


you were the song stuck in my head (every song i've ever loved)*

by thunderstorms47



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cultural Appropriation, Famous Louis, Harry is 25, Inspired by a Movie, Liam is a great friend but not so good a manager, M/M, Niall is a One Direction fan in all universes, Non-Famous Harry, Popstar Louis, Recreational Drug Use, Zayn is kinda a douche, but not really, louis is 33, more like has-been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstorms47/pseuds/thunderstorms47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. louis used to do a lot better but he's doing okay now, harry is just here to water his plants, and niall is a louie. also, zayn is the male shakira (apparently), liam is a great friend but not so good a manager, and while it takes some time, in the end it all falls into place.<br/>*clean version.</p><p>based on the movie "music & lyrics" because i love the soundtrack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were the song stuck in my head (every song i've ever loved)*

**Author's Note:**

> welp, finally. after forty thousand words and a week of binge watching rom coms, it is here. this fic just came up after talking to a friend about how louis and hugh grant in most of his movies are like the same person, really. as my previous fic, this is a carbon copy of a movie. i have no shame.  
> title taken from the song 'favorite record' by fall out boy.  
> just to clarify, this is the clean version of the fic, with no sex, for all my ace spectrum/sex repulsed buddies out there. love you all.  
> if you want to read the explicit version, go [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5700454).

> Celebrity Crush
> 
> July 17, 2015
> 
>  
> 
> Tags: louis tomlinson, retro, what happened to, one direction, 00’s has-beens
> 
>  
> 
> **Louis Tomlinson To Return to the Biz on Reality TV?**
> 
>  
> 
> What happened to the One Direction singer, (no, not Aiden, the  _ other _ one), after dropping from the face of the earth back in ‘07? That’s the question we’ve been asking, and the reporters here at CelebCrush got first to the answer.
> 
> For those of you too young to remember the hottest act on the planet during the early 2000’s, One Direction was the duo of teenage heartthrobs who brought us anthems like  _ What Makes You Beautiful  _ and partied with Britney and Christina back in the day. 
> 
> While member Aiden Grimshaw jumped to bigger things and starred in a couple of movies, we cannot say the same thing about his One Direction bandmate, Louis Tomlinson. After the infamous backstage fistfight at the 2005 VMAs, Tomlinson seemed to vanish into thin air and left us all to mend our broken hearts when One D broke up and cancelled their world tour. 
> 
> But, worry not my dears! Apparently, Tomlinson has been in talks with MTV to co-star in a new reality show, yet to be named. The fun part is they will show the lives our old idols are now living, and honestly, who can resist to the answer of ‘where are they now?’ for popstars whose names we can’t even remember?
> 
> Will this be the new beginning for Louis Tomlinson? Or will he, as many before him, drop from the C-list to the I-for-irrelevant-list of Hollywood? Stay tuned on CelebCrush to find out!
> 
>  

* * *

 

Louis almost spills his morning order of Starbucks for reading that stupid article he found online. He blames himself for it, looking up his own name on twitter never led to anything good. 

And don’t even get him started on the comment section. He knows better than that, and decides to lock his phone before he finds anything else like a Buzzfeed quiz: “Which forgotten popstar are you?”

He rolls his eyes. Last time he took one his result was JC Chasez.

Taking a look at his watch, he realizes he’s already late for his eleven o’clock meeting. 

He jumps out onto the warm air of a New York’s summer morning and hails a cab, praying that he won’t get stuck in traffic for two hours.

But obviously, that is just his luck. “Hey man, is there any way we can get around this?” he asks his driver over the noise of the cars honking. “Sure, let me just get my chopper blades out!” the old man cackles at his own joke like he’s actually funny.

His phone starts buzzing and his manager’s face shows up on the screen. “Louis! Where are you? The meeting already started!” He reprimands him on a hushed tone. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, but traffic’s awful right now,” Louis slurps the last of his chai latte and tosses the empty cup under the seat. “Remind me where it is, again?”

“It’s on the 86 and Broadway, I texted you the address last night!” That makes Louis look up. He’s not that far away after all. Maybe just a couple of blocks down.

“Right, I’ll be there in ten, bye!” He gives the driver a twenty and jumps out of the cab before he can say anything. 

The building is easy to spot, and after the walk down there he’s already feeling hot under the collar. 

Maybe it’s time to renew his gym membership. 

He bumps into a blonde secretary who points him in the right direction, and when he gets there he sees his manager already sat down laughing with three other people around a glass table. 

“Well, hello there Louis, thank you for joining us!” A guy in his late forties says, but smiles as he does so. 

“Sorry for my tardiness, you know how traffic gets sometimes.” He shrugs off his coat and takes a seat next to his manager, placing it neatly on Liam’s lap, who in turn just looks at him with a frown.

Louis beams at him. 

“So, let’s start, shall we?”

 

***

 

“You never told me I’d have to freaking box!” 

Liam just scratches his neck, looking at him apologetically. “Lou, I swear, I didn’t know-”

“You’re my manager! It’s your job to know these things! What if they wanted to take me on a safari and have a bloody elephant eat me?”

“I don’t think elephants eat people. At much he’d stomp on you.”

Louis just looks at him unamused and slaps him on the head. 

“I’m a wimp, you know I am a wimp, I cannot box even if my life depended on it! I mean, sure, I don’t need it because I can talk my way out of anything or distract them with my looks, but I don’t even know how to throw a punch.”

They get out of the cab and Louis’ doorman greets them on their way to the elevator. 

Inside, Louis sighs. “Tell me it’s not the last thing we’ve got.”

Liam pats him on the shoulder. “No, of course not, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, Lou.”

Louis  _ knows _ he doesn’t have to take it, but it’d be a lot better if he did. 

He takes his keys out and unlocks the door, throwing his things on the kitchen counter and getting a beer from the fridge. 

He passes one to Liam. “I mean, we still have the Knott’s Berry Farm thing, right? And the, uh, the midwest state fairs.”

Liam doesn’t answer. He is not answering and he just takes a swig from his Corona, the idiot. 

“Li?” He goes back to the TV room and plops on the couch next to his incompetent and now mute manager. “We still have that, right?”

“Uhm. Knott’s Berry wants only three nights instead of seven and both Indiana and Iowa’s state fairs cancelled. But, we still have Ohio!” Liam grins and rushes to drink his stupid beer. 

Louis swats him on the throat on purpose. “What? Why didn’t I know this? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Hey, I’m telling you now.” Liam coughs. “I thought if you said yes to the reality show it would soften the blow.”

Louis scrunches his nose. He will not throw punches on tv with some celebrity twenty years older than him. He will  _ not _ .

“Wait. Lou, I have some good news. You won’t need those stinky tv shows or state fairs, ” Liam pauses, all giddy like a child. “I have something ten times better. You ready?”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, what is it? You got me a guest spot on Glee?”

“Louis, that show’s been over for like a year.” Liam frowns. Louis feels outdated. 

“Anyways,” Liam pulls up a video on his phone. “I got you this.”

On the screen plays a shaky video of a live show, the singer onstage performing in a monk-like robe, dozens of choreographed dancers prancing around him. 

Suddenly, fire bursts on the sides of the stage and the boy singing strips of his robe, and the screams coming from the tinny speakers almost make Louis’ ears break. 

“You got me my own personal sex slave? Aw, thank you Li, you shouldn’t have.”

“Louis.” Liam sighs and places the phone on the coffee table, the video still playing. “Do you know who that is?”

“Well, I’m guessing he’s not a family entertainer,” Louis peers into the screen, the boy performing grinding on the floor with a girl perched on top of him. He has to admit, that guy is fit as all hell.

“He is Zayn, and for your information, he’s the most googled R&B singer of this year. He’s like the male Shakira or something.” Liam shuts off his phone, and turns to Louis. “He is on the brink of global stardom, and guess who he loves.” 

“His… parents?” Before Louis can continue, a buzzing sound interrupts them. 

It’s the receptionist on his intermic. “Mr. Tomlinson, I have a man in the lobby saying he’s here to water your plants.” 

“Edgar waters my plants.” He picks at a scab on his finger. Edgar only comes on Tuesdays though. 

Wondering if it’s a stalker and then deciding he hasn’t had one in nearly ten years, he presses the button again. “You know what, never mind, send him in.”

Liam is changing the channels on his flatscreen, too quickly to be surfing mindlessly. “Look, that’s him.”

Louis sees a man on his early twenties, spiked silver hair and a dark beard, giving an interview on the E! channel. He whistles. “He’s fucking gorgeous.” 

“Yup. And trust me, the looks make up for the lack of brain cells.”

Louis would love to stay and listen to this guy, just Zayn apparently, with no last name, talk about his newfound faith for buddhism, but someone knocks on the door.

He goes to open and finds a man at least a head taller than him, looking around aimlessly at the hall. “Uhm, hey.”

The man turns around, and smiles immediately. “Hi, I’m Harry Styles.”

Louis takes a look at this guy he’s never seen before. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a dark green jacket over his broad shoulders. His dark brown hair rolls in curls past his ears, and his pink lips look a bit chapped. 

All in all, he looks so calm and friendly standing there that Louis decides he’s definitely not a stalker. Maybe a serial killer whose targets are singer has-beens, but not a stalker. 

“Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

He blinks at Harry, waiting for a further explanation, because while he may be cute he’s not getting past this door without some ID. 

Harry seems to get this, because suddenly he looks a little embarrassed. “Edgar didn’t give you the message. I’m a friend of his, and he’s gone out of town for a couple of days, so in the meantime he asked me to water your plants.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise. That seems reasonable. “Oh, okay. Yeah, he didn’t say anything, but no worries. Come in.”

He goes back to the living room, Harry walking behind him. 

“So, uh… you have your own watering can and everything right?” Harry looks sheepish as he takes off his jacket and messenger bag, dropping them in the middle of Louis’ baby grand piano, which. 

That kind of thing is unacceptable and would normally cost him a punch in the balls, but he doesn’t even know this plant watering substitute and doesn’t want to scare him off, so he’ll let it pass.

“Because the last guy I went to didn’t, and he doesn’t speak english very well so when I asked him where his equipment was he must’ve misunderstood me and started shouting at me in polish, which wasn’t very nice.” Harry looks like he could continue his rambling, so Louis puts him out of his misery.   

“The watering can is in there, below the sink.” He says amusedly, and strolls back to the couch after pointing him in the direction of the kitchen.

Liam is taking notes on his phone, probably about Louis’ dentist appointment or picking up Louis’ dry-cleaning or something work related.

“You have a guy that waters your plants?” He glances at Louis. “Why would you even need someone for that? Water your own plants.”

“Because I like to think I am an important person, Liam.” He replies matter of factly. 

“But like, why do you have so many plants?”

Louis just shrugs. He likes having a little life on this godforsaken apartment, sue him. 

Harry returns with a watering can and a spray bottle, his boots shuffling on the carpeted floor.

“Liam, this is Harry Styles, my plant watering substitute.” Louis gestures. 

Liam smiles at him and reaches to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Louis’ manager, Liam Payne.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you.” He smiles and Louis realizes he’s got dimples. What kind of grown man has fucking dimples? “Well, I’ll leave you both then, I’ll try to be quick.”

“So… Zayn?” Liam goes back to his phone. “He’s good man, he’s really good. And he happens to love your music, only god knows why.”

Louis snorts. “Yeah, okay, and what’s the deal?”

“He wants to work with you man! Think about it. This way we’ll renovate your image, put you back on the radar, it’ll be great!” Liam smiles. 

“His last single was called Chakra Between Your Legs or something like that, so there’s that.”

Louis loses it at that. “Fuck off. Does he really wanna work with me? Why?”

Liam shrugs. “We’ll find out. He’s shooting his new video tonight and wants to see us right after. What do you say?”

“Tonight?” Louis figures it won’t hurt to go see what this is all about. He nods. 

Suddenly, they hear a screech and Louis worries someone’s stepped on a chihuahua. 

Turns out it’s Harry, who is now holding his finger between his lips, the expression on his face alarmed. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks. He must have pinched his finger with the cactus. 

“Uh, no, actually, do you have a band-aid and some neosporin you could give me?”

Louis blinks at him. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”

That seems to set Harry off. He dashes to the door holding his finger like it will fall off any second. 

“Okay, well, that’s fine, it’s just, uhm, I’m a little hypochondriacal and you know, this could get infected.” He talks fifty miles per hour, Liam and Louis watching him in a sort of trance from the couch. 

“And you should really get a first aid kit, I’m telling you, for your own good.” He grabs his things from the receiver and turns to smile apologetically at Louis. “I’m really sorry but I need to go and take care of this, I’ll be back later okay, you two have a good day, I’m sorry, bye.”

The door closes behind him and Liam turns to look at him. “...Weird.”

“Yeah.” Louis is still staring at the door, trying to understand what just happened.

“Don’t give him a key.”

 

***

 

The set of green and red lights give this space the feeling of a nightclub, except the music here is cut when the director shouts through the megaphone.

“Do it again, and this time give me a smug look, like you’re too good for the camera! And dancers, please move your hips more obscenely, okay?”

Louis grabs a couple of nuts from the trail mix on the buffet table to his left, laughing as he reminisces of his times shooting videos and how they had to do it over and over again until the director was happy with it. 

Judging by the look on the singer’s face, he hopes they wrap it up soon. 

“So, what do you think?” Liam came from behind him, reaching for a bottle of water.

Louis looks back at the scene the singer and his dancers are reenacting for the fourth time. The guy starts singing at the camera and some fog clouds up the view, only to reveal the next moment two female dancers practically humping this guy’s legs. 

The song goes on about the forgiven desire the singer feels and what his body can do to enlighten him, only to continue about how magical a threesome can be and how three’s never a crowd. 

“He’s very… spiritual. I’m glad kids these days are exploring religion.” Louis says pointedly when the singer drops to the floor with praying hands and behind him dancers use a statue of Buddha as some kind of stripper pole. 

Liam elbows him but chuckles at that. He knows how ridiculous this looks. Louis can only imagine what talking to this guy will actually be like. 

They wait for Zayn in the resting room which is filled with burning candles and incense that smells of earth and wood. There are even some dreamcatchers hanging from the ceiling.

Louis doesn't judge. Back when him and Aiden were at the top of their game, he used to demand a Gamecube console with a full selection of games and Aiden was even worse; asking for canadian bacon directly from Vermont, cold Chardonnay and a tray full of flavored condoms and cuban cigars. 

The arrival of the singer and his entourage interrupts his inner musings when Liam stands up from the chair and before them appears Zayn, taking the hood off his robe like he's Muhammad Ali on his way to the championship.

“Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Payne, this is Zayn.” The guy that must be his manager introduces them.

The guy greets them with a bow and folded hands, so Liam and him do the same after a moment of hesitation. 

“Hi, Zayn, nice to meet you. I’m Liam and this is my client, Louis, but you already know that.” He laughs awkwardly, and Louis raises an eyebrow at his manager

But he turns to Zayn and greets him with a smile as well. He's even more stunning up close. 

“Hey, your new song is brilliant, the video is turning out very interesting.” He nods, waiting for Zayn to say something.

Alas, he does not. Louis wonders if the guy is mute and this is all a hoax Vanilla Ice style.

After a beat of silence, Liam signals him to sit down again while Zayn moves to his dressing table and has three different assistants fuzzing about all over him. 

“What the fuck?” Louis mouths to Liam. He just shakes his head dismissively. 

“So,” Zayn’s manager claps his hands, returning to them. “This is what we want. Zayn opens his world tour in two weeks at the Madison Square Garden, and we need a new song.” 

Liam clears his throat. “Okay, and what’s the song? Louis can sing anything you throw at him.”

The manager laughs. “We hope so, ‘cause he’s gonna write the song.”

Louis frowns. He thought he was here for a collaboration. “Uhm. I’m sorry, what?”

Suddenly Zayn is there again, taking a seat right in front of them. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” He begins. His voice is quiet and serene, a little bit on the husky side. “When I was a kid, I used to love your band. Your song  _ Little Things _ got me through my first breakup when I was twelve.”

Louis swallows. “Right, ‘cause I recorded it when I was fourteen, so.” He and Liam laugh, and mentally Louis tries to recall when they put out that song. He had been twenty two at the time. 

Zayn does not laugh, which, shocker. 

“Last month I went through that again. My girlfriend and I had been together for almost three months.” He pouts his lip. “It was all so very painful, but then I took a trip to India where I found all my answers.”

Louis makes a humming sound, trying to sound sympathetic. He has no idea what this guy is saying. 

“My guru there taught me a new mantra,” He takes out a piece of folded paper and hands it to his manager, who in turn hands it to Louis. 

He takes it and reads:

 

_ If I could fly, I’d be a bird. _ __  
_ If I had leaves, I'd grow on earth. _ __  
_ And since I don't, _ _  
_ __ All I can do is be myself.

 

Truly inspiring. 

Louis gives back the paper and looks at Zayn, who speaks again. 

“So, that will be the name of the song, If I Could Fly.” He’s smiling for the first time since Louis saw him. 

Liam leans forward on his seat. “So, let me get this straight. You want Louis to write the song.”

Louis bites his lip. He hasn’t written in like, eight years. 

“Yeah, basically, and to sing it in a duet with Zayn at Square Garden.” His manager peeps in. “Oh, and we want to put it on his new album, which is dropping soon, so we need the song by Friday.”

Louis whole face drops. “ _ This _ Friday?” It was Monday today. 

“Yeah.” The manager says nonchalantly, like he didn’t just ask Louis to do the impossible.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” he adds. “We got other five retro artists working on a song, so if you blow it, we’re covered.”

“Huh.” Louis purses his lips. How reassuring. “Well, thank you for that, uhm…” He turns to look at Liam.

“Yes, we will look into this and get back to you tomorrow.” Liam chimes in. 

With that, they stand up to leave, saying their goodbyes to Zayn and his manager.

“Namaste.” Zayn bids them, bowing again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis bows repeatedly on his way to the exit, “Namaste.”

 

***

 

The cold night air hits Louis’ cheeks as he walks into his building. He’s talking to Liam on the phone, who, judging by the background noise, is playing with the kids. “Give me the pros and cons.”

Liam ruffles something on the other end. “Right, uh… pros, Zayn is huge, he could really push your name, this will get you money and recognition, and it’s a brand new opportunity for your career to be reborn.”

The elevator dings and he gets out into his floor. “And cons?”

“Cons.” Liam thinks for a second. “The inevitability of death makes all this futile and nothing that you do will matter when we’re all dead.”

Louis weighs these options. “They want this song in four days, Liam!” He slams his head against the wall. “You know my history with songwriting is dark and gloomy. Besides, I need a lyricist, and it never worked with anyone except for Aiden.”

“Look, Louis, I am your friend before your manager and I will always support your decisions, but let me be honest with you here.” Liam replies through his munching. “You need this. One hundred percent, you need this. It’s been ten years since One Direction, new old acts keep popping up, the Spice Girls are reuniting, Take That are on a new world tour, and it’s hard to keep up when all you’re doing is high school reunions and state fairs.” 

Ouch. 

“So, if you don’t want to fade into oblivion, my advise is you take this.” Liam finishes.

Kicking off his shoes before stepping into his bedroom, Louis heads for the bathroom, turning on the hot water. 

Dread and frustration are slowly creeping up his throat. The past few years there had been a nagging feeling on the back of his mind, the uncomfortable realization that his time as a star had been long gone. 

“Oh my god. Liam. I am finished.” Louis worries his bottom lip between his sharp canines. “I’m a nobody, I am finished Li! I’m gonna end up singing at bar mitzvahs!” 

“No, you’re not. Thirteen year old kids have no idea who you are. Now, calm down, okay?” Liam says quietly. “You’re not finished yet. We can stop that, if you just write this song. Trust me, after this Knott’s Berry will be begging us to play there, and who knows, maybe we’ll even get Disney World!”

“Don’t get my hopes up like that Liam, I am very vulnerable right now.”

Liam chuckles. “Look, do this song with Zayn, and I can assure you, there will be a spot for you at the Magic Kingdom, baby!”

Louis sighs, dipping his foot into the shower to test the temperature. “Okay. I’ll take it. But I can’t do this alone, you know it.”

“Hey, don’t worry, I’ll get you a lyricist for tomorrow. He’s edgy, he’s new,  _ and _ he just worked with The Weeknd.”

 

***

 

“Okay, so one more time from the top.” Louis is trying really hard to put a melody to this thing. 

He’s sitting in front of his baby grand piano in the middle of his living room, a man with shaggy blond hair and a three day beard sitting on the chair in front of him with the most unimpressed look on his face. He swears the guy fell asleep for a moment there. 

He starts singing and tries not to make a face at the disturbing lyrics this guy came up with.

 

_ I watch your hips sway, _

_ If I could fly, it’d be with a gun to my head _

_ ‘Cause you took my love away _

_ And now I’m dead _

 

“No, no!” The guy shakes his head. Louis stops playing. “You don’t get it man. It needs to be raw.”

Louis rolls his eyes because it’s the fourth time in an hour that the guy has used ‘raw’ as an adjective. He’s about to throw a chicken breast at his head, see if that’s raw enough for him.

“If you don’t like the lyrics, be straight with me.” The guy raises an eyebrow at him. “Or maybe you want something more commercial, to sell out to the masses. Something more ‘poppy’.”

Suddenly, a knock on his door snaps Louis from his plotting thoughts.

“Hold that thinly veiled insult one second, okay?” Louis gets up from his piano.

There on the threshold, is standing his plant watering substitute.

“Harry!” He smiles, a bit surprised. “Hi.”

“Hi, hello Louis,” He surprises him even more by hugging him quickly. “The receptionist let me come up, hope that’s okay.”

Louis nods, and takes note of his bandaged finger. “I see they could save your hand.”

Harry laughs unabashedly, a big, guffawing laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I might’ve overreacted a bit there. But uhm, I’m here now, told you I’d be back.”

“I’m glad, come in, please.” He opens the door and leads him to the living room. 

Harry takes notice of the guy sitting on the chair, who’s eyeing them with enough boredom to be considered rude. “Hi, I’m Harry Styles, the plant watering guy,” 

He says, taking off his jacket and bag and leaving them on top of the piano, again. Louis just sighs and takes them away. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I know where the things are, I’ll just be on my way.” He smiles at Louis and walks to the kitchen.

Louis wished Harry had stayed there, at least he eased up the tension a bit.

“Right, where were we?” He begins playing the two compasses he came up with.

“Look, when it says ‘A gun to my head’, that’s where the music really kicks in.” The guy points at the piano. “Try a C4.”

Louis nods, and begins singing again. “I watch your hips sway, if I could fly it’d be with- a gun to my head…” he trails off when the guy sighs exasperated again. 

“No! It’s, ‘I watch your hips SWAY, if I could FLY it’d be-”

“To the stars and get away…” someone whispers. 

Both Louis and the guy turn to look at Harry, who’s humming distractedly as he waters the fern hanging on a pot from the window. 

The guy just shakes his head, but Louis leans in his stool to see Harry. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Harry turns around, his green eyes wide. “I don’t remember,” he mumbles.

“No, you just said, ‘to the stars and get away’. That’s actually interesting.” Louis notes to himself.

The brooding guy just laughs condescendingly. “What? Oh, come on.”

Louis plays it again on the piano, this time singing the lyrics Harry supplied. 

“Look, if the only things you can rhyme are love and dove, then why don’t we let plant boy here do it.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, but keeps watering the bamboo. “I’m just here to water the plants.”

“Yes, and you’re doing an excellent job, although that one is actually plastic,” Louis says, caressing the ivory keys. 

“Huh?” Harry jumps when he realizes the water overflowed the pot. “Oh! Sorry.”

The blonde guy, Louis doesn’t even remember his name, stands up. “If I could fly, it’d be to the stars and get away.” He makes a hand gesture towards Harry. “Finish it.” 

Harry looks like a deer caught in the headlights, fishing his mouth for a moment. “Uhm.”

“That’s what I thought,” the guy picks up his jacket and begins to walk out.

“If I could fly, it’d be to the stars and get away. My heart’s been broken, but you could make it well again.” Harry rushes in.  

The guy looks at him deadpan. “What’s next?  _ Feelings _ ? Nothing more than feelings?” He turns to Louis and shakes his head. “You people disgust me.”

The door closes behind him, and Louis lets out a tired laugh.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Harry apologizes, his brow deeply scrunched. “I have no filter, I’m sorry.”

Louis stands up, follows Harry to the kitchen. “No, never mind him, he had to get back to his job at Hallmark.” 

Harry places the watering can back under the sink, still looking a bit upset.

“Listen, uh, have you ever heard of the band One Direction?”

“Yeah, of course, they used to be so big back in the day,” Harry giggles. “And they used to wear these ridiculous outfits and dance this ridiculous choreography-”

Louis bites his lip, catching Harry’s expression as he turns to look at a One Direction framed poster hanging from the wall. “And oh my god, you are one of them.”

Louis just laughs. “Yeah, that choreography used to be really famous, it was called the puppeteer.”

Harry tugs on his unruly curls. “See? Ugh, I have no filter. I’m sorry.”

Louis props his hip against the piano, slightly endeared by this guy. “Don’t worry. So, anyways, I assume you also know Zayn.”

“The singer? Yeah, he’s good. My niece loves him.” Harry nods, smiling a dimpled grin.

“Well, I’m writing a song for him, or well, trying to, and I think you’re the perfect lyricist for me.”

“What? Oh no, I have never written anything. Uhm, I mean, of course I’ve  _ written _ , everybody has written something at some point in their lives- well, not everybody, illiteracy is a growing epidemic in this country…” Harry trails off, moving to gather his things from the receiver, once again panicking and running away from Louis.

“Wait! No, seriously, I think you have a gift, and I need this song done by Friday. I could really use your help.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m seriously not the man for the job.” Harry scratches his neck, where Louis can see dark ink peeking from under his collar, and frowns again. “I am not a lyricist, I wish I could help you but I can’t. Sorry.”

Louis twists his mouth. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry. But uhm, if you change your mind, or if you just wanna go check out my show, I’m performing tonight at the Sheraton.”

Harry smiles. “Okay. Thank you, Louis.”

“Yeah, no problem. Bye.” He says, closing the door after Harry is gone.

He sighs, sliding down the wall and folding his legs on the floor.

He turns to look at his David Bowie painting. “What do I do now, David?”

 

***

 

“Hey, I’m home!” Harry yells in the vicinity of the apartment. He drops his things on the table and goes directly to their little kitchen, grabbing a juicebox from the fridge.

He’s running a mental checklist while checking in the cupboards to see what he can throw together for dinner. 

He still needs to finish up that paper for his business management class, and phone Gemma to see if he still needs to babysit for her.

“Hey, how was your day, sweetiepie?”

He smiles and turns around to greet his roommate who is now wearing only boxers and washing his teeth with one hand.

“Hey, Ni,” he greets. “Uh, it was good. I was thinking I could make chicken and garlic potatoes for dinner, what d’you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” Niall says with a mouthful of foam like he just got rabies. 

Harry finishes his juicebox and tosses it in the trash can labeled inorganic.

“So, how was your day?” Harry asks, gathering the ingredients necessary.

Niall spits in the kitchen sink, wiping his mouth. “Great, actually. I got the phone number from my barista this morning, and let me tell you, she is smoking hot.”

“Oh?” Harry smirks in his direction. “So that’s why you’re actually washing up yourself now?”

Niall snorts. “No, you dork, I haven’t called her yet. You know I gotta wait at least twenty four hours or else I’ll seem needy.”

Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, otherwise you won’t seem that at all after you’ve stalked her for the last month at her workplace.”

“Hey! The place is just around the corner from my work, you can’t blame me. The fact that she’s there is purely coincidental. Besides, you’ve taught me better than that.” Niall hops on the counter, still wearing only boxers and disregarding any health rules whatsoever. “Stalking is not okay and making a girl feel uncomfortable at her workplace is a dick move.”

Harry grabs the oil from the spices cabinet and drizzles it on the pan. “Aw, Ni!” He looks over his shoulder at his blond friend. “I’m so proud of you.”

Niall chuckles, swinging his legs on the counter. “What about you? You got work tomorrow?”

“Uh…” Harry frowns as he tries to recall. “I don’t know, actually, my boss hasn’t texted me yet.”

Working at the Neue Galerie as an assistant of the curator was probably one of the best things that had happened to him, especially because of the flexible schedule and his boss texting him when he needed him. “They’re renovating one of the expositions, didn’t I tell you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall sticks his finger in the sauce Harry’s concocting. “I’m telling you man, as a postgrad Art History student you sure are living the sweet life. You actually have a job on your field, you get decently paid, and you go to work like twice a week! I envy you.”

Harry laughs, sliding the chopped onion from the cutting table into the pan. “Yeah, I guess I am pretty lucky that way.”

Niall offers to set up the table, but is refused when Harry tells him to go put some clothes on first. 

When he’s serving the chicken, his phone dings with a text from Gemma. He skims over the preview, his sister asking him to babysit on Saturday.

As they eat in comfortable silence, Harry’s mind starts to drift away to this afternoon.

“Hey, Ni?” He says, playing with his leftover potatoes and receiving a responsive hum from Niall.

“Remember when I told you I’d be filling in for Edgar, watering plants at people’s houses until he got back? Well, turns out one of those people is the guy from that band you used to love, uh, One Direction.”

Niall drops his fork and swallows his bite. “Louis Tomlinson?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” He nods. “So, it was actually the second time I saw him today, and anyways, he’s really nice and actually he invited me to see him sing tonight at a hotel-”

“Oh my god!” Niall stands up so fast his chair tips over. “Harry, we got to go!”

With that, he leaves the kitchen and runs back to his room.

Harry stares at his plate. “That wasn’t the end of the story, actually, but…”

“Harry!” He hears a shout coming from down the hallway. “Help me get dressed!”

 

***

 

Louis had been eyeing that lady on the front row for a while now. He recognizes a crazy fan when he sees one, and if he’s not careful he might get his butt pinched, specially since there was no barrier or anything between the stage and the audience. 

The Sheraton was hosting a high school reunion, class of ‘05, and well, if anyone had ever said that Louis didn’t have any fans left, they were damn wrong. 

He could hear the screams when the next song began, and after sending a look over the room, he saw all the women clapping in unison and the majority of the guys sitting on the tables away from the show, faces completely dull.

Well, he supposes he can’t have them all.

He shimmies his hips the way he knows they like, and begins singing the first bars to One Thing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Liam sidestage, giving him a thumbs up and moving along to the beat. He smiles, points the mic out to the small crowd to let them shout the chorus.

He wraps it up with a rendition of More Than This to leave them all teary eyed. 

Suddenly, he sees a blond man make his way into the crowd, pushing and tackling without a care in the world, trying to get up front. He manages to, and starts singing the song so excitedly, that Louis can’t help but get flattered. He is not the only man in the crowd, but he sure is the most enthusiastic one, even more than the creepy woman.

When the song finishes and he gets backstage after saying his thank yous and waving to the crowd, he feels the kind of happy that he always feels when he performs no matter how long it’s been.

Liam waits for him as he goes to the nearest bathroom and splashes some water over his heated face. They walk into the open room and are received by dozens of women holding phone cameras and even a notebook or two for autographs. 

He takes plenty of selfies and signs what they give to him, standard protocol ingrained in his muscle memory.

“Oh my god, Louis, I hope you remember me, I was at your concert in Boston back in ‘04 and waited for you in the bus, I love you so much-”

“Okay, that’s enough ladies, remember the guy has to rest his voice.” Liam says, friendly but firm. “You can check out his next events at his webpage and follow him on twitter for updates. Unfortunately, the Coney Island show has been postponed until further notice. Thank you, goodnight!”

He clasps Louis on the shoulder and leads them to a less crowded space near the buffet table. 

“You were good, Lou,” he says, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah, it was a good crowd.” Louis wipes some sweat from his neck. 

“Louis! Hi!” 

He turns around and finds Harry standing there with the blond man from the show glued to his back. 

“Harry? Hi, what a surprise, I never thought you’d show up.” He turns to Liam. “Liam, you remember Harry, my plant watering substitute.”

“Of course, nice to see you again, Harry.” He smiles genuinely, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d show up either, but-” He gets elbowed by the man next to him, who’s fighting to control his excitement. “My friend Niall here made me come.”

He motions to the guy, who waves eagerly and starts speaking nervously. “Hi, Louis, I am such a huge fan of yours, you were amazing tonight.”

“Right, I do remember you,” Louis laughs, shaking his hand. “We were practically a duet down there.”

“Niall is your biggest fan, and well, he wanted to come see you. Actually, I came here to apologize for what happened earlier…” Harry trails off when Niall shoves his phone into his hand. 

“Louis, can I get a picture, please?” The blond guy, Niall, apparently, asks.

“Of course, yeah, come here!” 

He slings an arm around the guy’s shoulders, and puts on his best smile for the camera.

“Listen, I’m sorry for the way I turned you down, it wasn’t very nice of me,” Harry starts, fiddling with the phone. “But I’m really not a lyricist.”

Liam looks at him and then at Louis questioningly, who drops his arm from Niall. “What?”

“Oh, yeah, about the guy you sent to my apartment today, he’s fucking Satan. So, Harry here, helped me with the song, and it was so good but now he won’t do it anymore.” Louis explains, looking pleadingly at Harry.

He sighs in return, pulling his full bottom lip between his fingers. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t.”

Niall starts getting restless. “Harry, just take the picture, will ya?”

“Look, Harry,” Louis continues, “I am a pathetic writer, I can’t write lyrics for shit, once I even tried to rhyme ‘you and me’ and ‘autopsy’.”

“They could’ve sculpted us already,” Niall deadpans, looking at Harry.

“I’ll take the picture,” Liam chimes in, grabbing the phone from Harry.

“That’s not so bad,” Harry says thoughtfully. “ _ Figuring out you and me, it’s like making a love autopsy _ .”

“See?” Louis laughs, turning to Liam. “He’s really good.” 

Liam seems to agree. “What goes next?”

Harry thinks for a second. “Uhm.  _ They could operate all day long and never find out what went wrong _ ?”

Louis listens attentively. “Harry, that’s brilliant. He’s like freaking Ed Sheeran, but less ginger.”

Liam laughs, and noticing Harry’s companion getting more anxious by the second, he snaps the photo. 

“Thanks, Louis, but I am not a writer. I can’t do it, I’m sorry.” Harry says, looking at the ground with finality. “Anyways, we have to go.”

Niall is trying to snap one more selfie, grabbing Louis’ arm. “Wait, Harry, just two seconds-”

“I’ll see you around Louis, congratulations on the show, bye!” Harry says, dragging Niall with him and disappearing into the crowd.

Louis just sighs, and looks at Liam. “It’s Tuesday already. What am I supposed to do now? Zayn wants the song on Friday before he leaves to LA.”

“Well, you were right about him, he’s good. Maybe you should try convincing him one more time.”

 

***

 

“Hello, may I help you with anything?” 

Louis looks up from his phone, making sure he got the right address from Liam. “Uh, hi, I was looking for Harry Styles?”

The man in a suit who greeted him at the entrance of the Neue Galerie nods. “Of course, follow me.”

They walk through a parquet covered floor, across two aisles filled with different paintings and photographs, and Louis takes his time admiring the museum while he waits for Harry where the man instructed him. “He’ll be out in a second.”

His eyes fleet across the gallery he’s standing in, and he can see plastic sheets covering the room adjacent. They must be renovating.

“Louis?”

He whips his head and finds Harry with a ratty denim overall, a white t-shirt underneath, and his wild curls pulled back from his face with some sort of headband. He’s also got white dust covering the tip of his nose.

“Harry, hi.” He smiles at him. “I’m sorry to intrude in your workplace like this, but I seriously need to talk to you.”

“Don’t worry, I was just fixing some stuff in the backroom…” Harry scrunches his nose, but looks pleasantly surprised by Louis’ visit. “How did you find me?”

“Uhm. My manager did. It’s just that I decided, I can’t take no for an answer.”

“Look, I told you, I don’t write, I am not a lyricist,” Harry says, shrugging his broad shoulders. 

Even like that, Louis needs to look up to see him in the eye. “What I did back then was just by pure chance.”

“I know, I know, you say that you’re not a writer, except that you are, Harry. When you used to write a poem column for your college newspaper.” Louis says, and hopes to god he doesn’t freak Harry out with all this stalkery behavior. “I googled you. You’re very good.”

Harry smiles, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Look, I’m very flattered. And you’re like, one of the six people on this planet that read those things, but that doesn’t mean I can write a song.”

Louis holds a finger up. “Except, that you already did.”

Harry looks at him confusedly.

“Come on, let me show you. Just five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

Harry seems to resolve an inner struggle after a moment, sighing. “Okay. But I gotta be back here before my lunch break ends.”

“I assure you, this won’t take us long.” Now that Harry said yes, Louis knows he’ll be able to convince him. “Now come with me Harold, I need to show you something.”

“What? Where are we going?” Without waiting to answer, Louis takes Harry by the hand, which envelopes his own completely and is warm and a bit calloused. Louis likes that. 

But he’s getting distracted. 

He walks them out of the museum and makes Harry follow him a block down to the nearest piano store. 

They get inside and a black lady greets him. “Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson, nice to see you.”

“Very nice to see you as well, Vera,” He grabs her hand between both of his, smiling. “Listen love, I was wondering if I could try the new Mason and Hamlin you got?”

“Absolutely, be my guest.” She motions to a glossy black grand piano, and smiles to them before leaving.

Harry looks at him funnily before taking a seat in the stool next to him. He starts playing a simple melody and singing the words Harry came up with last night about a love autopsy.

Harry smiles at him in awe when he finishes. “Louis, that’s amazing.”

“You wrote it, Harry.”

“But the melody… it’s beautiful, wow.” Harry shook his head slowly, his green eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight that drifted in from the nearby window.

Louis swallowed. “Uhm. Thanks.”

“But you have to understand, that was an accident. I have never written a song.” Harry says for the fiftieth time, laughing apologetically. 

“I know, and if I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” Louis gestures to the piano and then to Harry. “But I just don’t think I am. I think you might be a born lyricist, Harry.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, his pupils scrutinizing every feature of Louis’ face. It makes him feel self-conscious, a bit. 

“Okay.”

 

***

 

“So, should we continue with the lyrics Mr. I Hate Feelings left us the other day?”

Louis unlocks his apartment and heads straight for the piano, not planning on wasting any more time. It’s 4:37 pm on Wednesday, and they have until Friday night to deliver this baby.

Harry trips with the doorframe and almost falls to the carpeted floor, which thankfully makes him leave his messenger bag and coat at the receiver and not on Louis’ precious piano.

“Uh, what, sorry?” He asks, walking over to the chair next to Louis.

“You wanna go with the ‘watch your hips sway, put a gun to my head’ bit?”

Harry looks at him. “That’s plagiarism.”

“Yes, yes, that is correct, and I am glad you pointed it out. I was testing you to see your moral.”

Louis gets out a yellow notepad and a pen from a drawer and places them on Harry’s lap, who’s already sitting cross legged in the leather chair. How he managed to fold his long limbs into that, is beyond Louis.

“So…” Harry looks around, chewing on his lip, making it pinker and wet. Louis drops his eyes to the piano keys. “We need to write a song called If I Could Fly.”

“Yes.”

“And it has to be something Zayn would sing about.”

“Yes.”

“And something you would sing about.”

“Yes.”

Harry clicks the pen repeatedly. “What would you sing about?”

Louis cards a hand through his unstyled hair. He didn’t have time this morning to do it. “Uhm. Anything that would get me the job, basically.”

“Well, that’s inspiring.”

Louis giggles, placing a hand over his mouth. He can already feel the atmosphere being twenty times better than when he worked with Mr. I Don’t Do Commercial Shit.

They throw some ideas around, exchanging points of view about the song and how the tone should be set for it.

The clock on the wall keeps ticking and the clouds outside keep moving and Louis has never felt more at ease writing a song than with Harry right now. 

Granted, they haven’t  _ written _ anything yet, but that’s besides the point. 

“Okay, I got it,” Harry says suddenly, and Louis perks up. “We’re talking about love. Two people, finding each other. How that makes them… want to fly, right?” Harry says.

Louis nods.

“And, and that’s the beauty of it, right? How it makes them both feel invincible, and together they can defeat anything, because their love- Oh, who am I kidding, I got nothing.” Harry throws the notepad away, twisting his mouth.

Louis laughs, completely amused by Harry’s antics, which in turn makes Harry crack a smile.

At quarter to eight Louis gets up to prepare some pot noodles for the two of them, listening to Harry’s musings attentively as he takes out a bowl.

“And you know, I’ve always wondered, why you disappeared from the music scene all of a sudden.” Louis’ back straightens. “You guys were huge at that moment, right?”

The last part sounds closer because Harry just walked into the kitchen, and is leaning against the fridge.

“Yes, we were, but I’m guessing you’re too young to remember the fight we had at the VMAs that year,” Louis says in a strained voice, not because he doesn’t want to talk about this, but because he is trying to reach the packet of noodles on the top cupboard and is stretching his  _ entire _ body to do so. “He gave me a bloody nose, I gave him a black eye, we called it even.”

“Louis, I’m twenty five, not twelve.” Now that, makes Louis jump out of his skin, because the voice is right there beside him, and before he can say anything, he’s being pressed up against the counter when Harry reaches over him to get the packet he’s been meaning to. 

Louis takes it, and huffs. “Thank you very much, while I didn’t need your help, I appreciate it.”

Harry smirks. “Anyway, I wasn’t too young to remember it, it’s just that I never listened to that type of music, so I didn’t really follow those kinds of shows.”

“Huh.” Louis pours hot water into a pot and then puts the noodles. “Well, what music do you liked then? Since your ears were obviously too good for my band.”

Harry laughs. “The standard, some classic rock, old bands my dad liked, and then when I grew up, alternative and indie bands.”

“So, anything except the Top 40.”

“You could say that. Not that I thought that music sucked or anything, it just wasn’t my thing.”

Louis hums. “I like some old stuff too, don’t think because I was in a bubblegum pop band that I don’t know better.”

“I know, I saw that vinyl collection of yours in the living room. And your frames.”

He moves the soup with a wooden spoon, and Harry speaks again. “So, what’s the deal then? You and your bandmate got into a fight, and that was it?”

“Yes, then he took our manager and the last four songs we had written together and went on to record his solo album, which sold four million copies, and left me to die alone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Louis just laughs. “Don’t be, I had plenty of time to feel sorry for myself.” That was true, he had mourned the necessary and then moved on with his life. He’d come to terms with everything that had happened and was now perfectly fine where he was. 

“Still, it must suck to be stabbed in the back like that by a friend.”

Louis makes a sound. “We weren’t really friends. We got put in a band together, and that was it. Deep down, it was either him stabbing me or the other way around. It’s a dog eat dog world, kid.” He says the last part in a fake deep voice, which makes Harry laugh.

They get back to the living room with their noodles and Louis starts slurping on them noisily. 

After they’re done, Louis stretches his legs on the stool, a little bit bothered by the fact that they haven’t actually written anything. It’s already dark out, and he flips the lights on.

Harry clicks on his pen again, making noises with his mouth. “I don’t even know how to begin.”

“It’s just lyrics, just spit them out. Come on, whatever comes to your mind.”

“ _ Just _ lyrics?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at him.

Louis nods. “I mean, they’re important, they’re just not as important as the melody.”

Harry stops clicking his pen. 

“I really don’t think you get it,” He laughs disbelievingly and stands up from the chair.

Louis leans away from him. “Okay, you stopped clicking your pen, now I’m afraid. Get back to your corner!”

Harry steps right in front of the piano, towering over Louis. “Look, lyrics are the soul of the song.” He leans against the piano and starts gesturing. “It’s like, when you meet someone, the first impression you get, that’s the melody. It’s… physical attraction, sex.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Okay, that I get.”

Harry laughs. “And then, when you get to know the person, what they’re like, their fears, their deepest secrets,  _ that’s _ the lyrics.” He looks at Louis with wide eyes. “It’s the combination of the two that makes a song magical.”

Louis takes a deep breath. This guy really is something else.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Louis repeats, not sure if he heard right.

“Yes, let’s go outside.” 

“What, now?” Louis checks the clock. “It’s almost nine thirty! We shouldn’t be going for walks, what we should be doing is write this song.”

“Look, we’ve obviously reached a block here. Let’s go out, take some fresh air, and we might get inspired.”

“You can’t get inspired in here?”

“When you go out you see things, and you hear things, and eat things, and that might give us some inspiration.”

Louis knows he’ll get his way, with that face and those dimples, he knows deep inside his bones that this man has gotten his way his entire life.

 

***

 

“This is good,” Harry nods, crossing his arms. “We are now out of that apartment, and we can let our minds wander free.”

“Great.” Louis mumbles. He takes out his phone, shooting a quick text to his mom and another one to Liam.

“So, to change the subject, how did you cope with the breakup of One Direction?”

Louis coughs. “Well, with drugs, and alcohol, mostly. I acted out for a bit following the announcement, but then people stopped caring. So I went back to the studio, and recorded a solo album, which was a tremendous flop, and I lost a lot of money. But then I met Liam, who got me back on my feet and convinced me to return to do shows.”

They walk into a department store on eighth avenue and Louis heads for the music section. “So anyways, I got back and it was like I had never left, the fans were still there, a bit older but so was I, and the music was still good, and it allowed me to still do what I love, in a much smaller scale, of course.” 

Harry walks behind him, asking him more questions about his career.

“This is the record I put out,” He says, taking a CD sleeve from behind a Tom Jones album and giving it to Harry.

“Wow.” Harry looks at the cover art, which is a picture of Louis in a pensive position, according to the photographer, and turns it over to see the track listing. “This is really cool.”

“Yeah, Rolling Stone called it a ‘crass record and a desperate attempt to stay relevant while simultaneously giving the listener enough reasons to never walk into a Target store again’.”

“Well, I’m sure there were other reviews.” Harry says, putting back the album.

“There were, but none nearly as good as that one.” Louis stuffs his hands into his pockets, rolling on the balls of his feet.

Harry looks at him, something unreadable on his face. “I’m gonna buy this.”

He takes Louis’ album and goes to the checkout counter. 

While waiting for Harry besides the store window, Louis feels something warm spreading around his chest. 

Back out in the streets, they stroll through Times Square, and now it’s Louis’ turn to question Harry.

“What about you, Harry?” Louis bumps into his side. “What do you do when you’re not watering plants at strangers’ houses?”

“Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” And Louis rolls his eyes, because seriously? That’s the cheesiest line ever. He shouldn’t be smiling like he is.

“Come on, tell me a little bit about yourself.” Louis combs his fringe out of his eyes. “I mean, you’re like staying at my house for the next couple of days and since we’re gonna spend so much time together, I need to know you’re not a psychopath.” 

Then Harry wraps his arm around him when they’re about to cross the street, and starts talking. “What can I say? I went to NYU and studied Art History, got a job at a small gallery, and then I decided to go to grad school, am in the middle of getting my degree, and have this incredible job at the Neue Galerie which is one of my favorite museums.” 

He drops his arm from Louis and scoffs his boot in the sidewalk when they stop walking. “Uhm… I have an older sister who has two beautiful children that I babysit sometimes, I share an apartment in Midtown with my best friend, Niall, whom you’ve already met,” Louis laughs when he remembers his fan from the other night, “I’m an Aquarius, I love old movies, and my favorite food is mexican.”

Louis processes all this newfound information. “Wow, so this is the real Harry Styles.”

“Yes, that’s me.” Harry smiles, biting his lip. “Listen, uh… I appreciate you opening up to me like you did back there. That’s a lot of stuff for one man to handle. And I hope you know you can trust me.”

Louis opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He honestly doesn’t know what to say. 

“Seriously, I respect that. I know what it’s like to let your guard down like that and be defenseless.” 

The moon is full tonight and sheds some light on the park they pass by before being covered by the clouds again. But before Louis can form a reply, Harry stops him.

“Wait.”

“What?”

Harry grabs his bottom lip between two fingers again, and it starts to be really distracting to Louis. 

“I think…” He holds one finger up, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I got something.”

Jogging up the stairs of Louis’ building is a complete nightmare, especially when Harry practically forced him to run a marathon to get here, after saying he’d been struck with inspiration and insisting on getting back to the apartment immediately. 

“I just don’t understand why we couldn’t use the elevator!” Louis yells behind him, to which Harry only replies, “Too slow!”

His legs are cramping and his lungs are burning by the time he reaches Harry, who’s waiting impatiently for him to open the door. 

He shoots straight to the notepad he left lying on the floor and begins scribbling furiously. 

“So, what do you think?” He slides the paper across the piano’s surface to Louis, who has just taken a seat behind it. 

 

_ Pay attention, I hope that you listen, _

_ Cause I let my guard down. _

_ Right now I'm completely defenseless _

 

Louis hums. “Not bad, not bad.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling, placing his fingers on the keys.

He starts playing a simple progression, but finishes with a tone a step too low. No, that's not it. 

He plays again, but an octave higher.

“Now that's better.” He mumbles.

His fingers trace the keys with agility as he begins to sing the verse.

Harry just looks at him expectantly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“So? We got it?”

Louis stops playing and folds his hands on his lap calmly. 

“Yeah, I think we got it!” He yells, clapping his hands and grinning at Harry. 

The man sitting in front of him licks his lips and rushes to get back to his notepad. “Alright, now let's see what else we get.”

They stay up all night working on the first verse, but Louis barely notices it because he's not tired at all in the sense that he’s not dreading this song like he always did when he wrote with Aiden.

During a lull in their creative process, Louis takes a moment to glance at Harry.

He's twirling his green pen around a loose curl that fell over his forehead, escaping the hairband he put on around the three hour mark.

Louis smiles, deeply intrigued by this green eyed lyric genius man boy he should have never met. He was supposed to call off Edgar and tell him he didn't need him to water his plants anymore just the week before Harry showed up on his front door rambling about polish old men and first aid kits.  

Harry notices his look. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks, smiling.

Louis just shakes his head. 

The clock marks 3:41. 

“I think this is going really well,” Louis says after a beat. “Come on, if we keep this up we might finish it come dawn.”

 

***

 

Harry wakes up suddenly.

One of his legs has gone numb, his back is killing him, his mouth is dry as the desert and his head spins as he tries to remember where he is. 

He blinks profusely to try and get some sleep out of him, and sees Louis sitting on the piano, cheek resting on the covered surface and drooling all over it.

But before he can say something and wake him up, he falls off the chair where he spent half the night crammed in. 

“Woah!” He falls to the floor with a soft thud, rubbing his head where he hit it. 

That seems to wake Louis up.

“Wh-” Louis snaps his head up, looking everywhere around him with half lidded eyes. 

He rubs his eyes with one small hand, and zeroes in on Harry still lying on the floor.

“Harry! What are you doing there? Get up, we have to get to work!”

Harry just sighs.

They work on the song for half an hour in comfortable silence, Harry writing down ideas and Louis playing softly to himself. 

“Okay, so far we've got…” Louis takes the crumpled notepad and skims over it. “Five lines.”

His face shows he's not very happy with that.

Harry knows this because so far he's noticed that Louis snaps his tongue and scrunches his nose whenever he doesn't like something. 

It was all quite cute, to be honest.

However, Harry's stomach starts grumbling then and resonates loudly in the quiet room. 

“Ow,” He pats his tummy. “I could really use some food.”

Louis seems to ignore him. “What else you've got?”

Harry checks the hour. “Louis, it's almost ten. We need to have some breakfast.”

Louis makes a gesture with his hand. “Nonsense. What we need is to keep writing. So, come on, give me something more.”

“I will not write any more lyrics until I am fed.”

Louis makes a sound that Harry's never heard before. It's like something between a wail and a moan. 

“We have the three line verse and then this stray rhyme that I don't even know where to stick in.” Louis states, giving back the notepad to Harry.

He takes a look at it.

 

_ If I could fly, I'd be coming right back home to you. _

 

Harry had thought of it in a state of sleep deprivation. He doesn't know where to stick it in either. 

His stomach grumbles again.

“That’s enough, Louis. You are not getting more lyrics from me if we don't get breakfast first. I will go on a hunger strike.” He thinks about this for a second. “Although, a hunger strike would be to refuse to eat, so it's you who is actually making a hunger strike, and forcing me into it.”

Louis makes that sound again, and honestly would he just stop? It's distracting Harry.

“You cannot force me into a hunger strike, I will seek legal action.”

“Hah, good luck with that, pal.” Louis says, but seems to consider it. “Okay, fine, we'll get you your stupid breakfast.”

With that, he gets up from the piano, pocketing his keys in his back pocket. “Come on, grab your jacket, I know a place.”

They walk through the masses of people proper from an early weekday making their way to work.

“It's not far away, you just keep writing down those pretty thoughts of yours.”

And Louis made him bring the notepad. 

He clicks the pen, trying to come up with something, when suddenly he sees him.

Harry's gone from Louis‘ side so fast the latter takes a second to realize he's alone in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Harry?”

He's found a spot to hide behind a pillar beside the entrance of a Barnes and Noble. 

Louis finds him there, trying to make himself as small as possible. Granted, it's apparently not that much because Louis still looks up at him when he speaks.

“Uhm. What are you doing?”

Harry looks at him over the rim of his sunglasses, trying to calm his heartbeat.

“Nothing, uh…” Louis is eyeing him with a tinge of concern on his expression. “I just. I thought I saw someone.”

He steps into the sidewalk again, careful to turn his head slowly to see if he was right.

“Oh. Right. There he is.”

Louis turns his head, looking for a person, maybe a tough looking guy with an earpiece and a black coat, but he finds nothing.

Harry is looking at the store window, in there displayed an arrangement of books, all by the same author.

“What? What is it?”

Harry swallows. “My personal ghost. Nick Grimshaw.”

 

***

 

“Okay, so what's the deal?” Louis slides into a booth in the cafe he chose. “Who is this Nick Grimshaw?”

Harry looks out the window.

“Harry. I need to know you're not insane. So please, if there's anything I can do to help, tell me.”

Harry clears his throat. “Do you know the book  _ The Life And Times of Stuart Harrington _ ?”

“Yes, sure, huge best-seller.”

“Have you read it?”

Louis blinks at him. “Of course not, the last thing I read was a Tiger Beat magazine special on One Direction.”

Harry smiles without real feeling. “Uhm. Well. I am Stuart Harrington.”

Louis furrows his brow. “The author, Nick Grimshaw, was one of my professors back in college.”

A waiter comes to take their orders. Harry orders coffee and an omelette without seeing the menu. 

“So, anyway, I was taking this creative writing class because I hadn't picked a major yet, and he was giving it.” He grabs a packet of sugar, playing with it between his fingers. “He was… brilliant. I admired him deeply, and he was so nice to me, and so handsome. We started spending more and more time together and then he asked me on a date.” 

He glances at Louis briefly, measuring his reaction. The waiter comes back with their coffee and tea. 

“So, imagine my surprise when his fiancé showed up at his house one night when I was there.”

Louis sputters on his tea. “No.”

Harry laughs bitterly. “He had been away for a year in Spain, and returned unexpectedly to surprise him. When he found us, that kind of turned into a reenactment of the Inquisition.”

“And what happened then?”

“Well, he broke it off with me, his fiancé forgave him and they got married, I dropped out of the school, and basically hid away for the rest of the semester.” Harry stirs his coffee with a spoon and starts sipping it. “Then, a year later, his novel shows up. The story of Stuart Harrington, a college freshman who seduces one of his professors and lures him into a torrid affair to take advantage of his connections, and when the professor tries to end it, he devotes himself to make his life a living hell.”

Louis is watching him with an open mouth. 

“Stuart Harrington is 6’2, has my hair color, green eyes, all my habits; he rambles a lot, admires german painters from the twentieth century, has a cat named Dusty, and is an incredibly good liar.”

The memory alone of how he felt when his sister called him to tell him of the novel is enough to make his eyes sting. 

“Oh my god. Harry, what did you do? You could have sued him for defamation of character or something.”

Harry shakes his head, scraping the mushrooms of his omelette with a fork. “I didn't want to make a bigger deal out of it. Besides, I couldn't prove anything, he had changed the names of everyone in the story.”

He sniffs, lost in thought. “Anyway, that was the reason I was so weary of writing with you at first. He said some stuff about me, well, Stuart, on his book.” He recites the passage, and Louis already knows he knows it by heart. “ _ Stuart was a master of deceit. He could imitate the big ones, make you believe he possessed the wit of Hemingway, Whitman, or even Faulkner. But when you stripped him of his stolen words, you could see him for what he was: a poor, empty shell of a bland writer. _ To this day, I'm still haunted by those words whenever I pick up a pen or sit in front of a blank word document.”

The air between them rests with an ominous feeling, Harry trying to take his mind away from such unpleasant things.

Then, Louis breaks the silence.

“That is a load of bullshit.”

Harry chews slowly on the bite he just took.

“Harry, I'm telling you right now,” Louis takes his cup of tea, motioning to Harry. “If you're gonna let some old douche like Nick Grimshaw tell you that you're not good enough to do whatever you want, and believe it,” He takes a sip of tea. “Then you're not the person that I thought you were.”

Harry blinks up at him innocently. “He's not an old douche, he's won a lot of book awards.”

Louis laughs in contempt. “He's a douche! Anyone that's cruel enough to profit on a young man's misery is a douche in my book.”

He cuts up a piece of his pancakes, drenching it on maple syrup. “And believe me, I've seen my fair share of douches in my life. Besides, you know what? I don't think his book can be that good. Don't treat him like he's some literary genius.”

Harry shrugs, finishing up his omelette.

“I don't care how good those books are, nothing will ever make you feel as good, as fast as:  _ You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find, you get what you need! _ ” 

Harry laughs at his impromptu singing.

“Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Lou Reed, Joni Mitchell, those are real artists, those are real geniuses, people who could really understand what people are feeling and how to cope with it.”

Harry dabbs a napkin over his mouth. “Okay, but what if one of your idols crushed you like that beyond repair?”

“What? One of my idols?”

“Yeah, uhm, David Bowie, for example,” Harry pointed his fork at Louis. “What if David came up to you and said, ‘Louis Tomlinson, you are a shitty performer, and an even worse songwriter’, what would you do then?”

Louis humors him. “I would be devastated. I would. I'd get depressed, and fall into a downwards spiral of misery.” 

He reaches over the table and grabs Harry's hand. “But eventually I'd get over myself, get back on track, and find a lyricist,” he wiggles his eyebrows in Harry's direction, “Write a great song, and it would be a hit and everybody would love me, I’d get lots of money and I'd be a lot less miserable than if I just sat there all day feeling sorry for myself while I become a moribund fatass.”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, moribund.” Louis says, serious. Then he starts laughing. 

“Okay, I get it, I get it.” Harry laughs too, a little self-deprecatingly. “It's good to talk about that, thanks, Louis. Woah, in fact, I’d never talked to anyone about this, except for my sister.” 

He frowns a little to himself. He just found that odd, is all. He doesn't regret opening up to Louis, though. Not one bit.

Louis asks for the check, leaving the matter closed. Harry likes that, not getting pestered with questions like Gemma or Niall would do.

Back in the apartment with renewed energy and a full stomach, they get back to business.

Louis is jotting down the notes on a music sheet, completely focused on his work.

Harry gets up from the chair and goes peer down at the busy streets from Louis’ balcony, mind deep in thought.

“If I could fly…” He whispers to himself, picturing his body lifting from the floor and flying into the clouds. That's supposedly what love makes people feel.

He wouldn't know. He's never experienced true love. And when he did fell in love, he got deeply hurt.

But he allows himself to create a scenario where he was completely, madly in love with someone, for the sake of this song. 

And to be loved back like that. Oh, what a feeling that’d be. 

It's probably one of those feelings that consume the person completely, like they'd be willing to give up everything as long as they were with their true love.

Oh, that's good. 

He scribbles it down, mind still wandering.

And what else? Deep down, a person in love is only afraid of one thing, and that's the relationship ending. Wait, no. Not ending. There could be something worse.

Hurting that person.

Hot tears spring from his eyes without his permission suddenly, and he lets a little self-pity sweep in. He got hurt so bad by the person he supposedly trusted the most. He bared his soul for that person, and look what it got him.

But then a voice in his mind, one besides his own, chimes in.  _ Someone who does that doesn't really love you. _

It sounded like Louis.

And Harry knows that. He  _ knows _ it, okay? God, it's been six years. He's had enough time to realize Nick never loved him, and he never loved Nick either.

But now, he wishes there was someone. Someone to do that with, show him the most secret and delicate parts of him, every nook and cranny within him. 

Because after all, isn't that what love's about? 

Show his heart to someone, and vice versa, and do it for that person only. Like a secret. For their eyes only.

Harry inhales deeply.

That's it. 

“Louis!”

 

***

 

Louis’ head shoots straight up from the piano keys.

“What? What is it?” He runs to the balcony. “What happened?”

“I got it!”

“What Harry?” This better be good, after his lyricist started screaming bloody murder. 

He hopes the neighbors don't call the cops.

“What'd you got?” He asks with a wince.

“The point of the song,” Harry gestures wildly, “The angle we're aiming for, the, the… the life of the song!”

Oh. This  _ was _ good.

“Alright! Let's hear it, tiger!”

“The whole song is about how when you love someone you let them see your true self. You know how people often wear masks on their daily lives, either out of fear or just to save them trouble?” 

Louis nods. He has a feeling that Harry doesn't do masks.

“So, when you're truly in love, you bare your soul to them, giving them the power to… to hurt you.” He sighs, dropping his arms, but there's an expression of awe in his face, like this is all a revelation to him too. “But the point is that you trust them not to do it, because you love each other, and even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Also, I was thinking it could be like about two people away from each other, and how one of them wants to do just that, fly back to them, so they could be together again.”

Louis takes a moment to admire Harry, while he collects himself and keeps from doing something stupid like jumping on him and planting wet kisses all over his stupid dimpled cheeks.

“That's good, Harry.” He settles on saying, so Harry won't get too smug. 

“Thanks. I try.”

At half past three they already have like half the song finished.

Well, almost.

Overall, Louis is pretty happy with the result so far. He has the melody all laid out, and pieces together the verses with Harry's help.

Harry jumps from his chair and starts pushing the piece of furniture across the room.

“What are you doing, you madman? You’re destroying my living room!”

Harry heaves from the effort and resorts to dragging it instead. “I can’t write from across the room, I need a change of scenery.”

“Stop! You’re too close, get back, get back there!”

Harry plops in the chair, content with his actions. “This is better, we’re closer this way.”

Louis shakes his head. “Now I feel cornered. I can’t work like this.”

He moves his piano across the room, opposite from the window and away from Harry. 

Well, more like, Harry is moving the piano while he does the bare minimum.

Serves him right for destroying his living room.

“Push, Louis!”

He pretends to do so, and they end up the exact same way they were, but with Louis facing away from the main entrance instead of to it, and with Harry’s chair five inches away from him.

“Just, get a little bit-” Louis pushes him. “Move back, just a little. Back off.”

Okay. Now he can work.

They run the song from start to finish, Louis singing while Harry listens attentively and holds the lyrics so he can read.

Then Louis jumps from the stool when his landline starts ringing.

“Hey, Louis! How's the song going?” Liam asks, cheerfully. 

“Li! Hey!” He starts pacing around his living room they way he always does when he’s on the phone. He can feel Harry watching him. “Uh… It’s good, it’s going really good, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that. How are you and Harry holding up? Drive you up the wall yet?”

“No, not at all.” He laughs and starts telling Liam all about the process so far, and how brilliant Harry is.

“Woah, that’s… good, I guess.” Liam says, a bit worried. Why is he worried? They’re finally writing the song!

“Listen, Lou, just. Please, don’t sleep with him yet, okay?”

What?

“Liam! Excuse you? I would never-”

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘I would never’ crap. I  _ know _ you, Louis Tomlinson. And I know what you sound like when you wanna jump someone’s bones.”

Louis hides away in the kitchen before Harry can see the blush on his face.

“What the fuck? I don’t even like the guy, you daft cretin!” He yells in a whisper. “I just happen to like working with him, he’s not a pain in the ass like all the other lyricists I’ve worked with.”

“Okay, whatever you say. Just, please, refrain yourself from fucking this up before you actually finish the song. Then you have my permission to sleep with him.”

Louis mutters a curse that’d make a sailor blush before hanging up on Liam.

Stupid Liam.

“So, how’s Liam?”

Louis takes his place back on the piano. “Sorry?”

Now, thanks to stupid Liam, he can’t shake the thought off his head.

Okay, fine. It’s not like it never crossed his mind, he’s only human after all. But that doesn’t mean he was actually plotting to seduce this guy.

“Uhm, he’s fine. Yeah, just checking up on our progress.”

“I heard.” Harry grins, and could he have heard something? Louis will jump off his balcony if he had.

“Hey, Louis, can I ask you a question?” 

Louis swallows. “Yes…”

“How old are you?”

What? Oh god. “Thirty three.”

“Huh.” Harry nods, like that’s good enough for him, and gets back to his notepad.

Louis tries to keep his thoughts at bay and begins to play a different melody, a nursery rhyme, to distract himself.

“Okay, how about this?” Harry leans in. “‘I’ve got scars, even though you can’t see them. And the pain gets hard, but with you here I don’t feel anything.”

Louis nods. “A little bit emo, but yeah, I like it.”

Harry giggles. “Okay, now I just gotta make it rhyme.”

Before Louis knows it, it's already pitch dark out, and he can’t do this anymore.

“Where are you going?” Harry watches him go from his seat.

“I need to eat something and take a goddamn  _ shower _ before I go insane.” He smells his armpits. Nothing stinks yet.

He checks in the pantry for something to munch on and finds a bag of hot cheetos. Excellent.

Harry finds him ten minutes later sitting on the kitchen floor.

“Is that cheese cream?” He asks.

Louis nods. “Wanna try some?”

They finish the bag of cheetos dipped in cheese cream, just like Louis likes it, sat on the linoleum floor without turning on the lights. 

“This is surprisingly good,” Harry says through a mouthful. 

“I  _ know _ .”

They talk about the music and the movies they like, and Harry tells him about his favorite books, and Louis feel completely at ease.

“So, d’you wanna shower?” Louis says eventually. “I mean, take turns, and uhm, shower, and just, get clean?” 

He’s pretty sure neither of them has showered in two days.

Harry smirks. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

***

 

“Hey, Louis?” He hears Harry’s voice coming from the bathroom. “Can I use this green towel?”

Louis has no idea which towel he’s talking about “Sure! Help yourself.”

He’s just put on some comfy sweatpants and is lying across his couch, surfing some late night TV. The tips of his hair are still wet. 

He goes into his bedroom to blowdry it when he bumps into a half-naked Harry holding the green towel around his waist. The bathroom’s door is open and steam is billowing out.

“Uhm.” Harry smiles crookedly. “I left my clothes out here.”

Louis tries not to go into cardiac arrest.

“Right.”

“Can you pass them to me?”

“What?”

Harry reaches his arm out. “The clothes. They’re behind you.”

Louis seems to react. “Oh! Right.”

He fumbles for them in the semi dark room, finds them lying on the floor at the bottom of a drawer. His hands are not shaking.

“Stupid Liam,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He gets back to the living room with the blowdryer in hand and plugs it in the kitchen’s outlet, and tries to wipe the image from his brain of a bare chested Harry with fucking tattoos inked on the V-line of his hips. 

When they’re both back in the living room and settled for another writing marathon, it’s already 1:55.

“I was thinking we should have a little bridge,” Louis says. “Can you do that?”

“Write a bridge? Yeah, sure.” Harry clicks his pen happily. “What concerns me though, is that we still don’t have a complete chorus.” 

Yeah, that worries Louis too. 

“Don’t think about that, just write whatever you want.”

Louis falls asleep bent over the piano again, and when he wakes up the next morning it is with a jolt.

“Harry!” He throws the notepad at the snoring lump across from him. “Wake up!”

Harry groans, but eventually wakes up. “Whassit?” He slurs, rubbing his eyes.

“We fell asleep.” Judging by the sunlight drifting into the apartment, it’s quite late already. “Zayn leaves today at 6 PM.”

Harry stretches his long limbs and yawns. “Well, good morning.”

Louis smiles a bit at that. “Good morning.”

They get a quick breakfast at the Dunkin’ Donuts around the corner, Harry chatting happily about the dream he had.

“And then the chicken gave birth, so I promised to take care of her baby until she came back from her mission in outer space.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, munching on a double glazed donut. “I wish I had dreams like that. I never remember them anyway.”

However, when they get back to the apartment Harry seems to have his mind made up about how he wants to finish this song. He voices his thoughts to Louis while watering his plants.

“So I was thinking it could be ‘I’m missing half of me’ instead of ‘I’m missing you all the time’, because that gives the song a more intimate feeling, you know?”

Louis gets up to take the potted plant away from him, already overflowing with water. “And now you may kill the next one.”

The piano plays softly when Louis is making his final annotations for the melody, focused on getting the tone right. 

“I think we should repeat it twice at the end of the chorus, ‘For your eyes only’, I think it should be sung twice. What do you think?” Harry scratches his head, his hair hanging loose to the sides of his face. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Louis agrees. “So listen, the bridge, you know the part where it says ‘I can feel the beat of your heart’?”

Harry nods, giving his full attention to him.

“Well, I was thinking, why don’t we make it ‘I can feel your heart inside of mine’ instead?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, which makes Louis backtrack immediately. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything, you’re the lyricist for a reason…”

“No, Louis.” He bites his lip, smiling. “That’s actually perfect.”

Louis grins brightly at Harry’s praise.

After a while Harry decides in a totally well meaning way to make them tea, so he gets into the kitchen, asks what Louis would like.

“Uh, Earl Grey, please!” He yells. 

“Listen, I still don’t like the way the part ‘And long for the past’ sounds, I don’t think it’s right for the whole feeling of the song.” Harry comments when Louis walks into the kitchen after hearing the kettle sing.

“It’s  _ fine, _ don’t overthink it.”

“Fine is not good, Louis.”

“Yes, but we only have time for fine. It’s T minus two hours, Harold.”

Harry glares at him as menacingly as a kitten and hands him over a cup of tea. “Why don’t you let me take care of that while you focus on the music.”

“Right, I forgot, ‘cause the lyrics are far more important to you.” He narrows his eyes at him, equally playful. “You don’t care about the music. I don’t trust you.”

Harry leaves the kitchen with a shrug. 

“Only the sith deal in absolutes, Harry!” He yells, sipping the tea. “Oh god.”

He spits it into the sink, his poor taste buds almost dying. 

“That has got to be the worst cup of tea I have ever had.”

Getting back to the living room with a grimace, Louis decides to begin the recording. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go down to my studio, you keep writing, okay?”

He takes the music sheets with him and heads straight to his little home studio, down the hallway past his bedroom. 

He’s in the middle of layering the piano track on ProTools when Harry walks in, asking something which he cannot hear over the sound blocking headphones he has around his head.

Harry seems to notice this and walks right out.

Taking out his bass, Louis plugs it in and strums some chords to accompany the piano. In his mind he was thinking of a cello or something, but he will have to make do with this due to the fact that he doesn’t own that kind of instrument.

It’s okay, this will work best as a piano ballad anyway. 

He’s finishing up with a guitar when Harry walks in again, almost running. “I’ve finished it! It’s done!” He screams excitedly.

“Great, ‘cause the music’s all set too.”

With that, he takes out a mic stand and places it in front of Harry. “And now, vocals.”

“Uhm. What are you doing?”

“It’s a song for two people, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re the only two people here.”

“But, I don’t really sing.”

He tries not to roll his eyes at Harry, and fails. “Three days ago you told me you didn’t write. Now please just cooperate and use that pretty voice of yours I’ve heard so much recently.”

He hands him a pair of headphones, which Harry puts on. “Aw, don’t you look handsome.”

Harry blinks at the microphone, biting his lip.

Louis just clicks play on his laptop to let Harry get familiar with the music. “Here are the cues, the lyrics are all written down beneath the compasses.” He points his finger. “These are your parts, these are mine, and well, these are both of ours.”

“Louis, this sounds amazing!” He yells, inappropriately loud for the small space they’re in. 

Louis motions him to turn it down.

“Oops, sorry.”

He puts the other pair of headphones on and clicks rewind on the track. 

“Okay, this is If I Could Fly, take one.”

The music begins playing, and Louis cues Harry.

It takes approximately Louis five seconds to realize it’s Harry who is singing. 

That’s because his voice is barely a whisper when he mouths the words, hesitant.

Louis reaches to the laptop and clicks stop. “Okay, let’s do it again, this time a bit louder because this song is intended for humans.”

He clicks play again. “If I Could Fly, take two.”

This time, Louis freezes for a different reason.

Harry starts singing at a reasonable volume, and his voice is so full and gravelly that Louis almost misses his cue when Harry looks at him.

He shakes his head quickly and joins in on the chorus.

 

_ For your eyes only _

_ I show you my heart _

_ For when you’re lonely, and forget who you are _

_ I’m missing half of me when we’re apart _

_ Now you know me _

_ For your eyes only _

_ For your eyes only _

 

Then he continues with the second verse, closing his eyes as he words the lines.

When he opens them again, Harry is watching him, a smile tugging on his lips.

Harry’s crooning the bridge along with him, but Louis is just so entranced by his singing that he forgets to finish the last line.

 

_ Hope that you don’t run from me… _

 

But instead of stopping and starting over again, Louis quickly decides to just continue, this time singing on his own, a little breathless, he must admit.

They take turns from line to line, and Harry just makes Louis’ heart burst into a million pieces when he makes a high note so crystalline that there is no way he hasn’t been trained. 

Louis just stands there in awe, watches how his brow furrows into the tiniest little ‘v’ when he sings, and his eyes flutter shut.

They wrap it up repeating the last line, the final notes of the piano flowing in the air. 

When it ends and they take off their headphones, the air hangs between them full of silence.

Louis’ eyes find Harry’s green ones, like a magnetic force pulling him in, and he can’t look away.

Harry exhales, a bit shakily. “Uhm. That was,” he clears his throat. “Brilliant.”

Louis agrees. “Yes. Brilliant.” 

His gut twists with something he can’t put a name on, and then he remembers what he was going to say. “You never told me you could sing like that!”

Harry laughs softly, looking down at his feet. “You liked it?”

Louis has to whack him in the chest for that. “Of course I did,” he says sincerely, eyes crinkled. “Your voice is amazing, Harry.”

“Thanks. Yours is too.” Harry says, and Louis just shrugs. “No, I’m serious, those other songs with One Direction don’t make you justice.”

Louis lowers his eyes, trying to cover the widest smile on his face. It’s so embarrassing. “Thank you. Uhm, now I have to burn this onto a CD and we’ll be on our way.” 

He tries to reach for the mic stand at the same time that Harry does, and honest to god, Louis is not making this up, when their hands touch he gets shocked with electricity. 

That makes them both jump, and Harry fumbles with the stand. “I…” 

He locks eyes with Louis, whose throat goes dry. He can see planets spinning inside those deep eyes.

“I’ll just go and get my jacket.”

With that Harry leaves the room, smiling the whole time.

Louis snaps out of his reverie. 

It was probably carpet static.

 

***

 

“Harry, hurry up! Zayn leaves in thirty minutes!” Louis yells, standing on the sidewalk and waiting for Harry to finish tripping on his own two feet.

They hail a cab, but to no avail. It’s like they’re actively choosing to ignore them. 

“Shit! We’re gonna be late!” Harry says, gripping his hair. 

“Wait! I have a car!” Louis says hurriedly.

“And why the hell didn’t you say so?”

Louis looks up at him with a little pout. “I don’t like to drive.”

Harry flings himself into the driver seat, checking the rearview mirror and putting on his seatbelt.

“Come on, what are you doing? Go!”

“Safety first.” He simply says.

Louis slams his head against the front. He’s going to lose this job.

They get out of the basement and into the night traffic, with Harry trying to go as fast as he can, according to him.

“I think I just saw an old man in a wheelchair pass us by.” Louis mumbles.

“Stop talking and put the address into the GPS.”

Louis does so, and tries not to jam his own foot into the gas pedal. “Harry Styles, I swear to god, if you don’t drive faster I am going to throw you into the Hudson.”

“Okay, fine!”

That seems to do the trick, because suddenly, he turns into Mad Max. 

They make it to the heliport with just five minutes to spare, but Louis doesn’t think he’s ever gotten that fast  _ anywhere _ in New York.

A pair of black SUVs are parked around a helicopter already set, and Louis jumps out of the car to run up to Zayn and his entourage, who are waiting for them next to one of the cars.

Louis hears Harry running behind him to catch up, and he holds the CD out when he gets next to Zayn and his manager. “Hi! Thank you for waiting, here is the song finished.”

Harry appears next to him, a bit out of breath. “This is my lyricist, Harry Styles.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” He drawls out, smiling at everyone.

The manager takes the CD from him, and a guy who must be at least 6’5 and is probably one of Zayn’s bodyguards gets a Sony Walkman out.  

“It’s just a rough draft, we recorded it at my little home studio…” Louis explains, nervous.

They put the CD on and hand Zayn a pair of earphones, who hasn’t said a word yet.

“Oh, you’re gonna listen to it now? Good, good, no time like the present.”

Zayn presses play on the walkman and closes his eyes.

Meanwhile, everyone else stays dead quiet. Louis could hear a pin drop to the ground.

He exchanges nervous glances with Harry, who’s tugging on his bottom lip rather harshly again.

An entire two minutes pass, Louis knows, he’s counting, before Zayn opens his eyes again.

He takes the earphones out, and looks right at Louis.

He’s going to jump out of his skin if this idiot doesn’t say anything right now.

Zayn hugs him first, and then Harry, who looks as lost as he feels.

“This is the song I’ve been looking for.”

Harry cheers loudly and so does Louis, judging by the look on the manager’s face he thinks he wasn’t expecting that either.

But right now Louis is so happy he punches the air and makes a little jump, everyone else whooping and clapping. “Yes! Yes, we did it!”

“Hey, congratulations guys, good job!” The manager clasps his shoulder, shakes both of their hands and yells over the noise of the helicopter that’s been turned on. “We’ll talk later this week to sort everything out, okay? Thank you!”

Zayn smiles at the both of them, and bows goodbye. 

Louis just does the same, folding his hands and smiling.

“Thank you guys, bye!”

They watch the helicopter fly away, coats flapping in the wind and hair ruffled. 

“Oh my god! Louis, we did it!”

“I know! We did it!” Louis whoops and throws himself at Harry, legs wrapping around his hips.

After the helicopter’s far away and they are alone, Louis seems to realize what he just did.

But instead of telling him to back off and dropping him on his ass, Harry just grabs him firmly by the thighs to ensure he doesn’t fall off.

“Woah, sorry, I got a bit carried away, uh…” Louis leans back the best he can, looking Harry in the eye.

He darts his pink tongue, licks his lips tentatively when he sees the way Harry’s following the movement.

Their lips crash together with force enough to tip Louis over, if it wasn’t for Harry who’s holding him, pressing their bodies so close that there’s not a hair’s breadth between them. 

A tiny part of Louis’ mind thinks of the debate there’ll probably be about who kissed whom some time in the future, or not.

But that tiny part reduces to nothing when Harry makes a sound deep from his throat, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp.

The fact that Louis is a grown ass man is, in fact, irrelevant, when he licks hotly into Harry’s mouth and lets out a  _ whine _ , rose lips parting for him to devour into. 

They pull back at virtually the same time, a flash of ‘what the fuck are we doing’ passing through both of their faces, panting breathless.

His lips are back on Harry’s before he can react, and the kiss gets more frantic.

But then Louis pulls back again, trying to clear his head of anything that’s Harry.

“I… We should probably go.” Louis says, eyes glassy.

Harry nods slowly, and puts Louis down carefully. “Yeah, we probably should.”

 

***

 

Harry’s hand feels heavy on the small of Louis’ back. He can’t get it out of his head as Harry leads him down the hallway, awfully quiet.

Somehow it feels like the calm before the storm.

He unlocks the door with shaky hands, dropping his phone and keys on the receiver and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Uhm. So, you want anything?”

Harry eyes him up and down, like he’d actually want to take a few things. “What’d you got?”

Louis pops his head in the fridge. “Uh… alcohol, mostly. Beer okay with you?”

“Sure.”

He tosses a bottle to Harry, who catches it smoothly.

They sip their cold drinks for a moment, Harry leaning against the counter and Louis pressed back against the wall.

“I think Liam’s supposed to phone me any time now, probably.” Louis says to break the silence, air heavy with something electrifying.

He can feel it on his fingertips.

“Yeah?”

“If he heard the news already, yeah.”

Harry doesn’t reply, just takes another swig of his beer.

Louis presses his lips together, looks down at the condensation dripping from the green glass.

He finishes the bottle in silence, placing it on the counter next to Harry.

“Listen, uh…” Louis begins, but trails off as quickly when Harry moves forward, slowly, almost predatorily.

Cornering Louis against the wall, making his mouth go dry, he speaks lowly.

“Do you even know what you do to me?”

Louis has an idea. His eyes switch from Harry’s eyes to his mouth at least three times, trying to come up with an answer.

“Whatever it is, must be good, ‘cause you’re still here.”

Harry digs a canine into his bottom lip, showing a half smirk. 

But before Louis can put in another word, his cellphone starts ringing.

“You should probably get that,” Harry muses after the fourth ring. 

Louis grinds his teeth. He was sort of hoping it’d stop ringing soon. And of course, it’s his manager.

He answers with clipped tones, trying not to give anything away with his voice. He wishes Liam could see through the phone, watch the hand gestures Louis wants to give him.

Finally, after what seems like  _ ages _ , Liam says goodbye and hangs up.

He feels a body right behind him, and looks over his shoulder, Harry's broad back blocking anything else from view. 

Louis’ mind is really into Harry being bigger than him, and the fact that he's eight years younger than him and could probably still pick him up with just his arms is doing things to Louis’ stomach.

“Where were we?” He asks softly.

“In the middle of telling you the things you make me feel.”

A pair of hands slide around his waist, the expanse of his ribcage covered entirely by Harry's hand. He squeezes lightly. 

“Oh, right. And what is that, exactly?”

Louis raises his arms, shoulders pressed against Harry, and nimble fingers take off his jacket, tossing it to the side. 

“Well,” Harry's voice is right in his ear, husky and low. “For starters, you make me feel… curious.”

“Curious?” Louis repeats, wondering where this is going.

Harry's lips brush the shell of his ears, his skin breaking into goosebumps on the neck. He hums an affirmation. 

“Keep me on my toes,” He replies. “I like that. Makes me wanna keep knowing more about you.”

“Really?” Louis asks softly. “What else?”

“Well,” Harry murmurs. “Why don’t I show you instead of tell you?”

  
  


*** 

 

Louis wakes up to the muffled sound of a cell phone buzzing. 

“Motherfu-” He bangs his pinky toe against the bed, trying to reach the stupid phone that’s fallen off it.

“Hello?” He answers through gritted teeth, in order to keep himself from hollering a string of curses.

“Louis! Good morning, how’s my favorite client today?”

Louis slides out of the bedroom, padding across the carpet completely naked. 

“Uh… good, good.” He cards a hand through his disheveled hair, voice barely above a whisper.

He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall in front of him, and winces to himself.

His neck and most of his torso are covered in bruises and bite marks, two enormous hickeys planted on each side of his hips.

“Listen, Zayn’s manager emailed me this morning, they wanna record the song with you this Wednesday when he’s back in town.”

Louis glances at the time on the screen. It’s not that late yet. 

“So I was thinking- I didn’t wake you or anything, did I?” Liam asks.

He turns his head, bending down to peek into the semi closed door of his bedroom, where a sound asleep Harry is lying with just a sheet over his crotch. 

“No, don’t worry…” He hears the rumble of sheets and a soft groan. “Actually, uhm.”

He turns around to inspect his behind on the mirror, and widens his eyes.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Liam enquires, more confused than anything.

“Listen, I… I slept with Harry.” He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the lecture.

“You slept with Harry?!” Liam all but shouts into the phone.

“Shhh, don’t be so damn loud!” Louis whisper-yells into the receiver, panicking a bit when he hears more sounds coming from the bedroom.

Harry’s woken up.

“Oh god, this is terrible.” Liam mutters. “Well, unless you’re happy, in which case I’m happy for you.”

Louis makes a noncommittal humming sound.

“Uh… I don’t know. Should we make pros and cons?” Liam continues, genuine worry for his friend filtering in his voice.

Louis hears a door opening and ducks behind the couch to grab his pants, still lying on the floor from last night. “Harry just woke up, I gotta go.”

He hangs up and struggles to put the pants on as quickly as he can.

But turns out, it’s not fast enough.

“Well, good morning stranger,” Harry says behind him.

Louis turns around and sees him lean against the wall, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and a smirk on his face. 

“What?”

Harry’s smirk just grows wider, dimple indented on his left cheek.

Louis looks down at his own state, sitting on the floor with one leg trapped inside his jeans and the other one out.

“What? Oh, don’t get too cocky,” He narrows his eyes at Harry.

“I didn’t say anything.” Harry shrugs, raising his hands, but the stupid smile on his face says otherwise. 

Louis decides if he’s gonna do this he might as well do it right, refusing to get embarrassed in his  _ own _ fucking house. 

He stands up, ditching the pants altogether, and walks towards the window, without so much as spending a glance on Harry.

He unhooks a potted plant from the windowsill, making sure his ass is on full display as he stretches. 

“What?” Louis asks again, looking over his shoulder carelessly, and judging by the look on Harry’s face, he’s not cocky anymore. 

“Uhm…” Harry just stands there, mouth wide open.

He seems to realize this, because he shuts it and swallows visibly, the apple on his throat bobbing.

Louis feels a pinch of satisfaction as he moves to the kitchen to groom his plant on the sink.

He actually has no idea what he’s doing. He just did it to have an excuse to show off his naked body as blatantly as possible.

Harry notices this, watching him take the dirt out of the pot and sprinkling a bit of water from the tap.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?”

Louis raises his chin, avoiding eye contact. “You may not.”

When almost all the dirt is out and the poor plant is hanging by a root, he just lets the water run and rinses it out.

Harry coughs. “So I take it your butt is still sore, then?”

Louis drops the plant on the floor, spilling water and dirt all over the place. 

“What?”

“Because you haven’t put any clothes on,” Harry gestures. “I assume you don’t want anything touching it.”

He’s enjoying this, the little shit.

“No, as a matter of fact, I actually like the pain.” He’s not cleaning that up. Harry can do it, it’s his own fault anyway.

“Louis.” A pair of hands stop him when he reaches for the door, making him turn around.

“Yes?”

Green eyes glinting with morning sunlight bore into his own with a disturbing intensity behind them. Harry looks like he wants to eat him whole.

“Aren’t you going to clean up this mess?”

Louis frowns. Harry’s not the boss of him. “No.”

“You’re all dirty now, Lou,” Harry points out, and he’s right. There’s dirt stuck to his forearms and a bit on his kneecaps as well. 

“You know what happens to dirty boys.” Harry says, completely unfazed. 

Louis blinks up at him, holds it in for a whole two seconds. “Oh my  _ god _ , are you trying to go all dom on me?” He snorts. “Harry, you can spank me all you want, I ain’t cleaning that up.”

Harry seems to consider this. “Okay.”

He sweeps Louis in his arms, putting him over his shoulder and carrying him like he’s a sack of potatoes.

Louis yelps. “Harry! What the fuck!” He starts hitting him on the back. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

Harry crosses the hallway and gets into the bathroom, unbothered by Louis’ attempts to murder him.

“Put me down, Styles!”

When he’s back on his feet he tries to decide between punching Harry square in the jaw or just plain ignore him, but Harry just turns on the shower, smiling to himself, the smug little bastard.

“What the hell are you doing?” He huffs, indignantly. 

“You need to shower. That’s what I was gonna say, but you didn’t let me finish.”

Louis scrunches his nose. Yeah, right.

“We both need a shower, actually,” Harry says. “And now, you’ve also given me permission to spank you, so.”

With that, he smacks him softly on his bare ass. “Come on, in you go.”

Louis will be buried six feet under before he admits he kind of likes that, and might possibly be into it.

The warm water hits his back and does an amazing job of relaxing his taut muscles, and he closes his eyes with a sigh, allowing Harry to move him around like a rag doll. 

“You sleep well?” Harry squirts some shampoo into his hand, running his hands softly through Louis’ hair. 

Louis laughs. “After last night, who wouldn’t?”

The suds spreading over his head fall to his shoulders, the smell of grapefruit invading his nostrils. 

After rinsing out his own hair, he steps back to give Harry some room to wash his own, completely comfortable with taking a shower together.

This gives Louis time to inspect the different designs Harry has tattooed on his chest and arms. He would’ve noticed them earlier, he supposes, but last night it was too dark and he was focused on other things.

“Why’d you get this?” Louis pressed the pad of his finger to Harry’s bulging forearm, where a ship was inked. 

Harry opens one eye. “I like boats.” He says simply.

Louis knows it’s such a bullshit answer he must say it to everybody, but leaves it for later.

But suddenly he remembers.

The day.

“Oh, shit! I have a gig today in Long Island!”

“Seriously? Where?”

“Some amusement park. Adventureland.”

“Really? Sweet!” Harry pulls him in and kisses him, answering Louis’ question.

They stand under the hot shower spray, Harry scrubbing them both clean with the sugar body wash.

“Uhm. You can come, if you want to.” Louis steps out of the shower, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel.

“Would that be okay?” Harry takes the towel he’s handed and uses another one to wrap around his head like a turban.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ll just sing a couple old songs, and you can test out that new roller coaster.”

Harry grins brightly. “Okay.”

They get dressed in silence, Louis putting on some comfy sweats.

Harry goes to unplug his phone from where he left it charging this morning and sits on the couch, watches him. “Lou, this place is a mess.”

And he’s right. His entire apartment shows not only signs of abandonment, but is littered with garbage from their past three-day writing binge.

Empty chinese take-out containers, balled up papers, dirty dishes piling on the sink, pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, and the dirt mess from earlier Louis left on the kitchen floor, to name a few.

“I feel bad, I should probably stay to help you clean up.” Harry taps something on his phone, and puts it away, standing up.

“No, no! Don’t be silly, I’ll call a cleaning service.” Louis smiles, scratching the side of his head.

“Are you sure? I mean, I could stay-”

“No, don’t worry about that. You probably have to go, I mean, you’ve been using the same clothes for the past two days.” 

Harry sighs, and chuckles lightly. “That is correct. I feel a bit gross, actually. And my roommate hasn’t heard of me since Wednesday. He’ll probably go crazy if I don’t go cook him a decent meal.”

Louis nods. “Don’t want Niall to die from emaciation.” 

Harry gathers his stuff in his messenger bag, looks around him like he’s stalling.

Harry’s probably stalling.

“But listen, why don’t I give you my number, for later when I’m at the park. That way we can meet there.”

Seeming pleased with this, Harry hands him his phone for him to type in his number. 

He saves it under four emojis: the sunglasses smiley one, the microphone, the smirking face, and the peach. 

Accompanying Harry to the door, bare feet shuffling on the carpet, he bids him goodbye.

Harry presses a kiss to his forehead, which. Louis thought they were going for an awkward ‘is this a kiss on the cheek or is it on the mouth oh well nobody knows’ kind of thing, and this, while unexpected, leaves him blinking owlishly standing against the door frame. 

“See ya,” Harry winks, and with that, he’s gone.

Louis closes the door and decides to make himself some tea. 

He pops two waffles in the toaster and finds himself humming the tune to their song.

Well. The song. The one they wrote.

Back in his bedroom, he picks out his outfit for the show from his walk-in closet, and goes for careless chic with a The Doors t-shirt, throw a gray blazer over it, and some black, very tight, chinos. 

He’s in the middle of styling his hair, already a bit too long at the sides and that reminds him to make a salon appointment, when his phone rings.

It’s an unsaved number, but he slides the green button anyway.

“‘Lo?”

“Uhm, I just wanted to make sure this was you, because I couldn’t find your name anywhere.”

Louis presses his lips together to restrain a smile. “Well, it looks like you didn't have trouble finding it.”

“Yeah, the peach emoji was a bit of a giveaway.”

 

***

 

Harry has a bit of candy floss stuck to his hair, and he's pretty sure he hasn't eaten any.

“Woah, Harry, look at that! We gotta try that out!” Niall yells behind him, pointing at the water logs ride. 

A string of children run between their legs, and Harry has to avoid them the best he can, trying not to trip or hit any of them with his tray of nachos. 

“It's like you've never been to Adventureland before,” Harry replies, amused with his friend’s childlike enthusiasm. “Don't wander too far from my side, okay Ni?”

Niall snickers, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, let's go find loverboy.”

Harry sighs. He made a big mistake telling Niall about what'd happened the night before.

The blonde had actually squealed like a little boy when Harry had, albeit modestly, admitted to sleeping with Louis. 

“Oh my god, you did not! I hate you so much!” Niall had exclaimed, grinning like a madman. “You have to tell me everything!”

When questioned about his unusual interest in the matter for a straight guy, he had simply replied, “Are you kidding me? I fucking loved that guy’s band. In a fuck, marry, kill with him, I'd bang him  _ and  _ put a ring on it, too.”

The park today is filled with families but not too crowded to be unbearable. 

Even though the day is windy, it’s nice and sunny out, enough for Harry to wear just a light jacket over his bright green Packers shirt.

Harry spots the small stage where Louis had texted him he'd be, but saw no one on it. A decent crowd had already formed nearby, almost all of them women in their late thirties, he notes with a smile. 

Niall slings an arm around him, pulling him close. “D’you know how much all those girls would hate you if they knew you actually fucked their favorite singer?”

Harry bats him away, laughing despite himself.

He knew Louis being gay was no secret, although he didn't flaunt it either, but perhaps these girls, or at least some of them, hoped they could change that. 

They get a perfect seat in a bench across the pebble covered path leading to the stage, right in front of the waiting line to get in the flying chairs. 

“If Zayn sings the song you wrote, does that mean you'll be famous?” Niall asks, stealing a nacho from his tray.

“I don't think that's how it works, really.”

Harry turns to his side, rummaging through his bag and taking out a labello lip balm. His lips always get pretty chapped with this wind. 

“Okay… but you can still hook me up with some tickets to his show, right?”

Harry smirks. “Oh, so that's what this is, huh? You using me for my contacts? You wound me, Niall.”

His friend sips the last of his blueberry slushie, his tongue all bright blue. “Not only for that. You cook for me, too. Otherwise I'd had left you a long time ago.”

Harry just chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Look, it's already starting.”

The speakers start pounding when the music comes on, the crowd cheering. Then Louis appears on stage, mic on his hand and a toothpaste ad smile on his face. 

Niall elbows him, wiggling his eyebrows and making Harry laugh.

“Shut up.”

The show begins and Harry finds himself moving to the beat of the songs, completely into Louis’ performance

Right now, Harry can see why Louis does what he does. He looks like he belongs on that stage, confident and friendly and always engaging with the audience.

He does a bit of talking between songs, always cracking a joke and making people laugh. Beside him, Niall seems to know all the songs, singing along and screaming manically when Louis says something cheeky. 

“You know, you can go there if you really want to,” Harry yells in his direction. “I'll be fine here by myself.”

“No, pshh, that's okay,” Niall scoffs. “I'm not like, sixteen anymore.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Okay then, whatever you want…”

Suddenly a new song starts, the guitar thrumming, and Niall squeals. “Oh my god, it's I Would!”

He’s up from that bench and gone so fast, just yelling a ‘Thanks, Harry!’ over his shoulder, that Harry barely registers what happened.

The set isn't quite long, only eight songs, but it turns out to be upbeat and full of energy, Louis brilliant in every aspect.

He’s endearing, but also a bit smug, and his little dance moves are good enough to have Harry biting his lip. 

He finishes his food and tosses the garbage in the nearest trash can, walking around the crowd to take a sneak peek backstage. 

He climbs the stairs behind a curtain, standing a little to the side to watch Louis.

There, he sees Liam, who greets him with a nod and a smile but is too busy fiddling with a soundboard and talking to a park employee. 

“Thank you so much, it's been a pleasure to have you today!” 

Everybody cheers and Louis retreats backstage, wiping his brow. 

He looks almost sinful in his black pants, and Harry makes sure to tell him so.

“Harry! You made it!”

“Hi Lou,” He goes in for a hug, and leans close to his ear. “You look particularly ravishing today.”

Louis falters, like he wasn't expecting that, but cocks an eyebrow at him. 

Liam hands him a piece of paper and Louis frowns. “We're doing the encore then?”

Liam nods, clasping him on the shoulder. “You gotta get out there, man. The people want it.”

Louis sighs like it's the last thing he wants. He looks a bit fatigued, actually.

Harry looks around and grabs a bottle of water, handing it to Louis. 

He looks at him gratefully, twists the cap open and sits down on a little stool. 

“You were incredible, Lou.”

Louis rolls his eyes, dismissing his comment with one hand while he gulps down the water. 

“No, seriously, that was a great show.”

“Liam, I don't wanna go out there again if I have to sing one more cheesy potpourri of some old songs.”

Harry shakes his head. “They're not cheesy. They're great and they’re catchy and they make people happy. Look out there, people on the waiting line are dancing along!”

Louis gives him a disbelieving look, puffing his cheeks and blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes.

“Fine, I suppose I can make one last appearance.” He smiles at Harry and turns to Liam. “Summer Love, please.”

Harry watches him go and stays side stage to watch the last two songs. 

Liam looks at him gratefully, mouthing a ‘Thank you’. 

When the crowd empties out after the show, Harry waits around for Louis and sees Niall approach him.

“Was that sick or what?” Niall laughs, shirt stuck to his torso with sweat. 

Harry raises a challenging eyebrow at him, silently asking ‘Do you really wanna go there?’.

But then Louis is there, talking with a lot of gesturing to a park employee, making her laugh all loud and annoying, and well. 

It’s not that Harry's jealous, because he's  _ not _ , but she is obviously trying to be so flirty with her giggles and squeezing of arms and tucking of hair behind her ear. 

“Easy there, don't try to kill her or something,” Niall mumbles to him. 

“I am not-”

“What do you think, then? Did you like the show?” Liam walks over to them, shaking Niall's hand and patting Harry on the back. 

“It was amazing, as always,” Niall gushes over Louis’ performance, jumping up and down excitedly and looking a little bit starstruck still.

He motions to Harry, looking pointedly at Louis, and Harry remembers.

“Oh, we brought you this,” He fishes out a tupper container from his bag, giving it to Louis. 

“I just wanted to give you something.” Niall quips shily. 

Louis opens the lid to peer inside, a waft of chocolate slipping out. “Wow, thank you.”

“But Niall can't cook to save his life, so he made me bake them.” Harry rolls his eyes. “They're beer and chocolate fudge cookies. You're not allergic to pecans, are you?” 

“Oh, that's lovely, no, not at all, you didn't have to Niall, thank you.” Louis exchanges an amused glance with Harry, taking a cookie out.

He lets out a moan, and. Harry's pants suddenly feel a bit too tight. 

“These are delicious, holy shit. Liam, here, have one.” He wolfs down two cookies before saying anything else. 

“Sorry, I haven't had anything to eat since morning,” Louis giggles, covering his mouth, and Harry finds that unbearably cute. “You want one?”

Harry declines, but Niall accepts one eagerly.

The way Louis looks at Harry, with a little mischief on his eye, makes him smile unabashedly until his cheeks start hurting a bit. “So, Harold, you’ve ever been to the Brain Whacker?” 

“No, can’t say that I have,” He shrugs, grinning when he sees how Louis licks his fingers after finishing the last cookie.

“Well you have to come with me now, no excuses. Just hang on a bit, don’t wanna throw up all over the kids.”

They walk side by side with Liam and Niall behind them, he can faintly hear Niall’s voice rambling about music and asking questions about Liam’s job.

“So, did you like the cookies?” Harry asks, popping a piece of peppermint gum in his mouth and offering one to Louis, who declines.

“Are you kidding me, they’re to die for! Harry, you didn’t tell me you can cook.” Louis elbows him on the ribs softly.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the treat. And I’m glad you’re not allergic to nuts.”

“Nah, the only thing I’m allergic to are losers.” Harry laughs. “That and strawberries.” 

He watches Louis skip down the path, making some pigeons fly away. “But I’m afraid there’s something.”

“Oh?” Harry doesn’t worry because there’s still that glint of mischief on Louis’ baby blue eyes.

“Now that I know what a great cook you are, I’m afraid I cannot let you go. You’ll have to cook me and feed me for the rest of forever.”

Harry’s heart tugs funnily at those words. He wouldn’t mind cooking Louis a decent homemade meal. “Do I get any say in this?”

“Nope,” He pops the p. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Harry’s mouth turns into a half smirk, and he stops walking to look at Louis when he stops too.

“Well, then I guess if you really want me to prove my cooking skills, we could do it tonight.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow. “We could, if you met me at my place at… seven, perhaps.”

“In that case, I’d probably need to buy some groceries since I’m betting you have nothing besides cheetos and pot noodles at home.”

Louis twirls on his dainty ankles. “What else do you think keeps this figure, darling?”

“Right.” Harry tries not to ogle at the figure Louis is referring to.

Louis laughs, scrunching his nose. “So, what’s on the menu?”

He stalks around Harry, and Harry shrugs, never losing eye contact with him. Louis sends him a look through his lashes. “Are you?”

Jesus.

They’re really doing this, are they? 

Harry’s jaw clenches, chews on his gum before coming up with an answer to that. 

“Well, normally I don’t pack the menu with that much meat, but.” 

And the look on Louis’ face is priceless. 

They share a look, which Harry won’t admit is a  _ look _ , okay, it’s just two people sharing some banter, but then Liam and Niall interrupt them asking if they wanna go to some of the rides. 

They get on the roller coaster and the water logs ride, as well as the Brain Whacker (which ends up with Niall throwing up the two buckets of popcorn and three hot dogs he ate), but by the time Louis insists on getting on the flying chairs, Harry’s like, stupidly tired.

The four days of little to no sleep in an uncomfortable chair and lack of vitamins have taken a toll on him. 

“Anyways, I probably have to get going, I have to go pick up my brother at the airport,” Niall is saying, and Liam has wandered off to speak on his phone, so that leaves the three of them.

Turns out, when Niall looked past the whole ‘oh my god my teen idol is right here and I am talking to him’ fog, he and Louis got along incredibly well. 

“Yeah, alright bro, take care,” Louis hugs him and pats him on the back. “And we’ll talk about those tickets soon!”

Niall grins widely at Harry, and hugs him goodbye too. 

Which leaves them both alone. 

Liam comes back and asks if they’re good to go. Seeing as the park is already emptying out a bit and it’s only quarter to five, they nod. 

“Shoot, I came here with Niall. I completely forgot.” Harry innerly curses the blond man. He guesses he’ll have to take an Uber. 

“What? No, none of that, you’ll come with us, come on.” Louis puts his hands on his shoulders and leads him out of the park. 

They’re on Liam’s car, Harry riding on the backseat, and although he still feels tired he’s also really happy with today.

Louis’ talking about how he could totally take Enrique Iglesias on a fight, a Maroon 5 playlist playing on the stereo, when Harry remembers.

“Fuck! I have to babysit for my sister tonight!” He shoots an alarmed look at the dashboard clock. “If you skip all the traffic signs and don’t go below 60 I might make it in time, Liam.”

Louis kneels on the seat and turns around to look at him. “You forgot you were babysitting for your sister tonight?” He laughs. “Where does she live?” 

“Brooklyn.”

“Oh man, you’re so dead.”

 

***

 

“Harry Edward Styles, you are so- Oh, hi.” A blond woman who must be around Louis’ age, a few years give or take, smiles warmly at him. “I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”

Louis shakes her hand. She has a pretty face, much like his brother, and the same big eyes, except hers are hazel. 

Her hair up in a fancy bun and her salmon colored dress indicate she’s headed out somewhere nice. Probably a dinner date with her husband.

“Hiiiii Gems,” Harry drawls out behind him, a look of regret on his face. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, traffic was awful.”

Gemma gives him a stern look, but lets it go. “I won’t smack you on the head only because we have a guest, and he might sue me if I do.”

Louis laughs. 

“Yeah, hah, this is Louis Tomlinson.” Harry slings an arm around him in a playful way. “Technically, he’s the reason I’m late.”

Louis frowns. “Uh, don’t blame your wrongs on me, Harold.”

Gemma invites them in, the brownstone looking quite more spacious than it did on the outside. “Right, Louis, I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“I hope nothing too bad,” He laughs, and secretly wonders how much is that. 

She flashes him that warm and genuine smile again, and Louis decides he likes her. “No, don’t worry, Harry only says kind things about his friends.”

“Anyway, I thought Louis could make it up to you by helping me babysit the little menaces.”

Gemma fiddles with her pearl earrings, trying to put them on. “Yeah, that’d be wonderful, thank you so much, Louis.”

Harry and him take a seat in the living room, Louis choosing the cream colored chair, and takes a look around.

“So, how old are the kids?”

“Six and ten, I think.” Harry looks over the back of the couch. “Gemma? Is Katie ten or eleven?”

“Ten is correct. You were at her last birthday party, you dummy.” 

“Ah, yes. The Hunger Games themed one, I remember.” Harry nods, smiling fondly at the memory. “I dressed up as Katniss. Well, she made me.”

Louis giggles. “You must've looked stunning.”

“I did, I did, but the skin tight suit didn't survive the party.” 

He props his cheek on one hand. “Aw, that's a shame.” He'd pay good money to see Harry on a skin tight suit.

Gemma and his husband, John, bid them goodbye after listening to all of Gemma’s recommendations, what the kids can eat, what they can’t, their bedtime and which pajamas are Tommy’s favorites.

“I already know all of this.” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’m telling you again, so Louis knows too and in case you forget. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Gemma reprimands him, giving Louis a knowing smile. “Oh, and they’ve already taken a bath, so don’t worry about that.”

“Honey, we’re already late, and that dinner reservation wasn’t free,” John calls from the entrance. “The kids will be fine, come on.” 

Louis watches them leave, squatting down on the wooden floor, waving to them. “Say bye to mom and dad, byeee!” 

Tommy, Harry’s youngest nephew, is leaning against his knees, waving as he’s told to. “Bye mommy!”

The kids turn out to be adorable and so funny, Louis gets why Harry loves them so much and offers to babysit all the time. 

Katie isn’t old enough yet to be over playing games and laughing at Louis’ jokes, and Tommy, with his blond hair and green eyes is bound to be a little heartbreaker at the playground. 

They’re both completely entertained with the game Louis taught them, called ninjas. 

“Who wants spaghetti-O’s for dinner?” Harry asks from the kitchen.

The three of them cheer. “Yay! Spaghetti-O’s!” Tommy claps his little hands together.

“Uncle Harry, mom said we should have a light dinner,” Katie says, giggling.

Harry pops his head into the living room. “Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Louis takes off his blazer after ten minutes of ninjas, a little hot on the cheeks. He forgot how exhausting it could be to take care of little children.

“Louis, you totally have to play Just Dance with us!” Kate says, heading for the TV and turning on the Wii U console. 

“You’ll have to do that after eating, dinner’s ready munchkins!” Harry calls them to the table. 

Louis starts setting up the table but Katie and Tommy insist that he sit and leave them to it. 

Harry brings a pan to the table, serving the pasta on the kids’ plates.

“Spaghetti-O’s for them, bolognese for us,” He winks at Louis, and serves him a big portion of spaghetti with meatballs. “Parmesan?”

“Yes, please.” Louis accepts.

The pasta is, unsurprisingly, delicious. 

After they’re done, the kids run into the living room, the beginning notes of a Lady Gaga song coming from the TV.

Louis helps Harry do the dishes, drying them with a blue towel and setting them on a rack.

“What was that game you were playing with them?” Harry asks curiously. 

“Huh? Oh. Ninjas,” Louis smiles at the floor tiles. “It’s just some silly game I used to play as a kid. You stand in a circle and try to hit the person next to you in the arms, if you do they lose that limb. The poses are quite funny.” 

Harry hums. “You’re great with kids, Lou.”

“I should hope so, I grew up with five younger sisters.”

“No kidding? Wow, that’s a lot of children, your mom must be a saint.”

Louis laughs. He thinks about all those days in the summer, back when he was a kid, and how he’d play with all five of them at the same time so his mom could have a bit of free time.

Back in the living room, Katie and Tommy beg Louis to play with them, taking out the second controller and dragging him to the TV.

“Uncle Haz, you are a terrible dancer, so you’ll just be the judge, okay?” Katie says, bubbling laughter and auburn hair. 

“Sounds good to me.” Harry plops down on the couch and crosses his arms behind his head. “C’mon Louis, give me a show.”

Louis smirks at him, putting on a cocky attitude. Oh, he’ll give him a show alright. 

Turns out, Louis is really good at Just Dance, reaching a perfect score soon enough.

“Oh my god, you totally  _ have _ to try the next level, Louis.” Katie clicks the controller and selects the hardest level.

Louis’ avatar on the screen does a little stretching, moving his feet and arms. 

“Let me pick the song this time, okay?” Harry reaches for the controller, flipping through the repertoire. 

Louis doesn’t catch what he chooses, but gets in position either way, ready to own this.

Then the music starts, a Rihanna song playing.

“Rude Boy? Really, Harold?” Louis stares him down over his shoulder, shaking his head. “Should’ve picked another one, Rihanna is my sh- my favorite.”

And it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, that Louis takes advantage of this. 

He follows the choreography to a T, but adds his own little moves, shimmying his hips and making his ass stick out a bit.  

By the time the song is done and he’s finished wiggling his body, he has a fifty thousand points score and Harry has his mouth hanging open. 

The kids are clapping like crazy and he bows his head, a bit sweaty. He gives Harry a smug smile before bowing to the kids again.

“Thank you very much, thank you.”

Harry seems to snap out of it, and claps too, swallowing.

They get up from the couch and move the coffee table to the center when the kids decide to get out the Monopoly.

“You shouldn’t dance like that in front of little children,” Harry points, licking the corner of his mouth. His smirk says otherwise. 

“Yeah, that probably crossed my mind.” Louis frowns, laughing. It wasn’t PG-13, exactly.

“But uh, you could try it again after the kids go to bed.” Harry rubs his hands together, the silver ring on his right hand catching the light. “I mean, I don’t want to limit your artistic expressions.” 

Louis scoots down to his side of the couch, leaning in. “Oh, really?”

He weighs Harry’s behavior, the way he traces his bottom lip with one finger, and the way his breathing hitches a little bit, before trying to look nonchalant. “What can I say, I’m a big art fan, in every way.”

Harry’s doing that thing where he holds him down with just a look, like he’s maybe trying to read his mind. Green eyes run over his entire body once before he turns his head away.

“Hey, whatcha got there, Tommy?” He asks, and the little boy holds up the boardgame to his uncle, asking him to set it up.

Louis tries not to focus too much on anything else besides the game, and they all play around the table for a while.

By the time the clock strikes nine, Harry’s already on the streets, with nothing but a mortgaged property and three dollars to his name. 

Tommy almost loses it when Katie charges him twenty dollars for staying in her summer castle, which means it’s bedtime for him. Katie can choose to stay up a half hour more, but both of them start yawning really quickly.

“Aw, come on, I wanna stay with Louis a bit more!” Katie hangs from Harry’s arm, dragging him down. “Pleaseee?”

A smile tugs on Louis’ lips, deeply endeared by the little girl and her brother. 

Harry shakes his head and manages to get them both in bed without too much fuzz, Louis offering to help Tommy out with brushing his teeth and buttoning up his pajama top. 

When they’re both tucked into bed and Harry’s sang to them, they get back to the living room.

“Would you like some?” Harry asks, popping out a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. 

“Is this your way of wooing a man, Styles?” He throws his head back over the back of the couch, accepting a glass as he looks up at Harry. “Invite him over to babysit, then have him dance and get him drunk on red wine?”

“Why, is it working?”

Louis takes a sip of wine instead of answering, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

He has an email from Zayn’s team.

“Zayn just invited us to his studio, something about the song,” He tells Harry, scrolling through the screen.

“Really? When?” 

“On Monday, five pm.”

“Five? Great, I can do that. Are you sure I’m invited, too?”

Louis swats him on the shoulder. “Of course you are, you idiot. You wrote the song, didn’t you?”

Harry shrugs, smiling. 

Liam has also texted him, asking him and Harry to come have dinner tomorrow night to celebrate.

He informs Harry of this. “Tomorrow at the Buddakan, eight sharp.”

“Where’s that?”

“Chelsea. It’s Asian. They serve  _ great _ cocktails.”

Harry makes a pleased sound. “Perfect. I’ll be there.”

They tidy up the room and put away the boardgame, as well as the toys and everything that might seem out of place.

The standby screen on the Wii is still on, so Louis places his almost empty glass on the table and turns off the console.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” He asks, but Harry just makes a noncommittal sound. 

He watches him make his way over to the sound system, hooking his phone to the stereo. 

Louis takes the liberty to refill both their glasses when an R&B song he faintly recognizes starts playing. 

“The kids loved you,” Harry says against the rim of his glass, lips cherry red from the wine. 

“I think it was mutual.” 

Louis strolls around the living room, watching the paintings hanging on the walls and the photographs resting on the bookcase. 

“I think Katie has a crush on you, actually,” He hears Harry say behind him. Yeah, he figured as much.

“I mean, who could blame her?” He says, batting his eyelashes. 

Harry snorts. “Right. Especially after that… number you put on.”

Louis downs the last of his drink, turns around to look at the man sitting back on the couch, legs spread and fingers resting on his temple. “Yeah? You liked it?”

Harry’s face doesn't give anything away. 

The music changes and the next song seems like such an obvious choice that he’s  _ sure _ Harry queued it on purpose. 

Louis chuckles lightly, already loosened up from the wine. He supposes he can humor Harry for a bit.

His head moves to the beat of the song, can only imagine what Harry must be thinking as he arches his back. 

“I love this song.” He says casually.

His legs lead him back to couch, swaying his hips and doing a little shimmy, as the singing begins, voice sultry and low.

 

_ I’m just a bachelor, looking for a partner _

_ Someone who knows how to ride _

_ Without even falling off _

 

He’s aware of the way Harry’s gaze is glued on him, and he stares right back, dancing carelessly and enjoying the attention.

What he does is really bring it on for the breakdown, jiggling his ass, arms going all over his body, completely lost to the music and quietly singing the chorus as well.

He struts up to Harry, still leaned back in the couch, eyes following his every move.

Harry’s hands come to touch around his waist when he stands between his parted legs, staring him down and trying not to smile.

The movement of his hips flows easily into his whole body, and he cards a hand through his hair, knowing how good he looks.

Wordlessly, he plants himself on Harry’s lap, legs bracketing his, and he takes the wine glass from him, drinking the last sip and placing it on the nearest table. 

By the time the final notes of Pony come to an end and the phone skips to a new song, they’re both just looking at each other, Harry’s stare penetrating through hooded eyes, and he uses his thumb to trace the outline of Louis’ bottom lip.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Harry muses, looking up from his lap to Louis’ eyes.

He nods unashamed. 

Harry sneaks a thumb under his t-shirt, rubbing small circles against his hipbone, fingerpad warm and rough.

Harry’s lips are velvety soft against his own, and the buildup of their kiss is just slow enough to have Louis’ pulse picking up considerably. 

Harry’s fingers coax his jaw open, licking hotly into his mouth and nipping at his tongue a bit.

There’s no rush to the kiss, not like before in the heliport where Louis discovered he was actually attracted to Harry and vice versa, or like in his apartment after the waiting had been too much.

He gets lost in the kiss. He can feel the hypnotizing drag of Harry’s lips against his own, sucking on his bottom lip and then traveling down to kiss at his jaw; he can hear the deafening noises of both their breathings and the wet sounds they caused.

He can smell Harry’s cologne, something fresh and wood-like. And he can taste the traces of fruity, citrusy flavours from the wine and a faint hint of mint in Harry’s mouth.

No, this wasn’t rushed at all. It’s slow and heavy and abrasive, invading Louis’ senses completely.

They make out languidly, and Louis is loving the way this position allows him to sit taller than Harry, making him tilt his head up to kiss him.

After a while, Louis pulls back, exchanging hot breaths with Harry and taking note of Harry’s dazed expression. He bites his lip, smiles at the man under him. 

“It did work.”

“What did?” Harry’s voice is a quiet gruff.

“Your way of wooing a man. I hate that it worked.”

Harry lets out a small laugh. “I knew it would.”

“Oh, so you do it often?” Louis asks, jokingly offended. “Should I be worried? Should I ask Gemma how many have there been? Wait, is this couch sanitary?” 

“Louis,” Harry takes the hand he’s pressed against his chest, catches it between both of his. “No. Come on, I’m not like that.”

Louis knows he isn’t.

But then the noise of keys opening the door makes them both jump, and Louis gets off of Harry immediately, heart racing like he’s just been caught having sex.

Unfortunately, not even close.

“Hi, we’re home!” Gemma opens the door smiling, her husband trailing behind her.

Harry rubs his nose, crossing his legs together. “Uhm. Hi.”

Louis is sitting three feet away from, trying to keep his cool when he greets the couple. “Hello, how was dinner?”

“Great, our waiter was lovely. How were the kids? Did they behave?”

“Yes, absolute angels, both of them.” Louis smiles. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Yeah, as always.” Harry quips, still a bit distracted. Louis notes he’s flushed under the v-neck of his t-shirt. 

“Oh, thank god,” Gemma sighs. “Would you like some coffee or tea, Louis?”

John smiles at them and excuses himself to the bathroom. 

A glance at the clock tells Louis it’s almost eleven. “Oh, no, thank you very much, I’d love to, but I actually have to get going.”

Gemma takes off her high heels, padding bare footed to the kitchen. “Of course, thank you so much for helping Harry out today.” She returns with a plastic bag. “At least take some cake, it’s really good.”

Louis accepts it, a bit reluctant. “You don’t have to do that, thank you, Gemma.”

Harry’s gotten up from the couch as well. “Right, we’ll head out then.” 

Gemma kisses him on the cheek and then goes to hug his brother. “Text me tomorrow, okay? John’s having that barbecue next week and we want you to come.”

Harry nods, shrugging on his jacket. “Will do. Thanks Gems, say bye to John for me. Love you.”

Louis shrugs on his blazer as well, saying goodbye to Harry’s sister again. “Thanks for the cake!”

They step out into the cold night, Harry closing the door behind them, and Louis blows into his palms. “Woah, it’s a bit chilly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, here. Take this.” Harry places his own jacket over Louis’ shoulders, and the thing almost swallows him whole.

“Oh, but now you’re gonna make me feel bad when you freeze to death!”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m hot enough.”

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “Can’t argue with that.”

They walk into the main avenue, stop at the intersection. “So, uh…” Louis begins. He doesn’t know where Harry’s headed to right now, and knows better than to expect him to go back with him to his apartment.

“The dinner tomorrow, right?” Harry asks, shoving three fingers in his pockets. 

“Right. Eight pm. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay.”

“Actually, your place is closer to the restaurant, so I could just… pick you up, maybe?” Louis offers.

“Uhm. Yeah, that sounds great. You sure there’s no problem?”

“Pshh, no.” He flaps the jacket open, playing with it. “You’ll drive, anyways.”

Harry cracks a smile at that. “Right. So, I should probably go home now. Haven’t slept in my own bed in three days.”

“Yes, get a good night sleep, you deserve it. You worked hard, Haz.” The nickname he heard Katie call Harry slips onto his tongue, almost unnoticeably. 

Harry scratches his cheek. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then. Seven thirty?”

“Hopefully, depending on how late I decide to be.” Louis hails a cab. He turns to Harry one last time, pressing his lips together.

“Okay. Bye, Lou.” Harry leans in, a hand pressed against the small of his back, and kisses him fleetingly. Sweet, but quick. 

“Bye, Haz.”

 

***

 

Harry is trying to figure out how to work their new blender without chopping off one of his fingers. 

“It doesn’t have a lid.”

Niall is just staring at him, sitting on a high stool next to the kitchen counter. 

“What kind of blender doesn’t have a lid?”

Since it was a lovely Sunday morning and none of them had work, Harry thought he could make some nice crepes and try out the new professional blender his mom had given to them.

“Hey, don’t ask me, you’re the cooking expert.”

The berry compote he prepared last week is sitting on a mason jar ready to use, but Harry really doesn’t know how to even assemble this fucking thing.

“It’s so huge. You could probably fit a baby in it.” Niall deadpans. 

Worried that Niall might actually eat a live baby if he doesn’t make the crepes soon, he pulls out his phone and searches online for the blender model.

“Why did you have to throw the box out, Niall?”

“I thought I could give it to the homeless man I see at the park everyday.” 

“Wait, you’re seeing him?”

“No, I’m not  _ seeing _ him, I just walk by him whenever I pass through the park.”

Harry huffs in frustration when the blades don’t fit into the slot. They’re so sharp he might actually slice his finger.

“Okay, I think I finally got it right. Let’s see.” He empties the crepe mix in the container, adding flour and nutmeg, his secret ingredient, and prays to god this will work.

But somehow, before one of them can react, the blender growls like a beast from hell and suddenly there’s a scoop of crepe mix the size of a plate stuck on the ceiling, flour having flown everywhere.

“You should’ve put on a lid.”

Harry glares at his roommate, grabbing the butcher knife from the chopping block.

“Hey, I was just kidding, geez.” He’s up from the stool and runs back to his bedroom, yelling behind him. “You need to get laid!”

Now he has to figure out a way to clean that mess from the ceiling, before it hits him on the face. He places a bucket right underneath, just in case.

Later, Niall and him go shopping after making an inventory and realizing they need milk, bread, condoms, shampoo and other vital stuff. 

Harry insists on going to the farmers market for the edibles. “If you’re gonna buy from the dairy industry at least try to be ethical about it, Niall.” 

They make a trip to Panera to grab a bite to eat after the whole crepe fiasco, Niall ordering two sandwiches and Harry choosing soup and a salad.

Harry tells him about the dinner he has tonight, and Niall smirks knowingly. 

“Oh, so it’s a thing then,” He wiggles his eyebrows. “He’s taking you to dinner?”

“It’s not a date, his manager and someone else are going.”

Back at their apartment, Niall plasters on the couch and gets ready for a gaming session. Harry lets him know politely that the bathroom is closed until six, and goes run the water for a warm bath.

He’s been meaning to try those new bath salts he bought. 

Putting on his headphones and picking a Lykke Li album, Harry closes his eyes with a content sigh and lets the therapeutic scented candles do their job.

A knock on the door startles him awake. “Harry! Man, come on, I need to pee.”

Harry glances at his phone. It’s almost six anyways.

“Fine, give me a minute.”

He rinses his hair quickly and drains the bathtub, blowing out the candles.

He steps into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and stands in front of the closet to choose his outfit for tonight. He pulls up Louis’ contact on his phone.

**6:02 PM**

**Harry: Is it like super formal or can I go in my undies :)**

Louis reads it almost immediately, and he waits for him to reply.

**6:04 PM**

**Louis: while that sounds tempting i’m afraid dresscode is formal love**

**Louis: what kind of undies were u thinking? ;)**

Harry snorts, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

**6:06 PM**

**Harry: Cotton ones, plain black. Why?**

**6:07 PM**

**Harry: Jk haha you want a picture? ;)**

As he waits for the reply he begins going through his dress suits, deciding between a light gray one or a black one.

His phone buzzes.

**6:10 PM**

**Louis: u really cant be deceived can u?**

Harry hums to himself, sliding into a pair of Calvin Klein briefs and toweling dry his body.

The bath salts left his skin all smooth and tingly, and well. He guesses he can snap a quick shot.

**6:13 PM**

**Louis: send me ur location please. be there in an hour**

**Louis: dont wanna get stuck in traffic lol**

Harry does so, clicking on the blue pin.

**6:14 PM**

**Harry: Location**

**Harry: The buzzer doesn't work btw**

He clicks open the camera and takes a shot from the torso down. He does look quite good, if he says so himself.

**6:17 PM**

**Harry: Image attached**

**Harry: You think these will do? ;)**

**6:18 PM**

**Louis: harold how can u even breathe with boxers so tight?**

**Harry: It's to pump all the blood to my heart x**

Harry smirks at the screen, locking his phone and beginning to get dressed.

He decides to go for the black one, and while he’s at it he figures he might as well dress to kill and chooses to wear all black everything, putting on a crisp black shirt and a black tie. 

He presses the pants and styles his hair with just enough time to sit around waiting for Louis for five minutes. 

Taking a last look at himself on the mirror, he ruffles his hair just the tiniest bit with the tips of his fingers to give it his trademark disheveled look.

Niall whistles behind him. “Looking good, Harry. You going for a Mr. Grey kind of look?”

Harry’s phone lights up with a text. Louis is outside.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing that worries me about you, Niall. What kind of man actually reads Fifty Shades of Grey and goes to watch the movie?”

He goes grab his coat and leaves the apartment, making sure he pocketed his phone and wallet. 

Louis is standing against the hood of the car, arms crossed and what looks like smoke curling around him. 

“Good evening.” Harry greets him.

Louis turns to look at him, takes in his outfit. “Good evening,” the red cherry of his cigarette lights up when he takes a drag. “Do I know you?”

Harry skips down next to him and takes his cigarette from him, taking a drag. Menthol. He’d never take Louis for a menthol kind of guy. 

“Well, do you have a habit of picking up strangers in secluded corners?” 

He blows the smoke upwards, checking Louis out.

He’s wearing a navy blue suit, double breasted jacket that accentuates his waist and a powder blue shirt underneath. It all makes his blue eyes pop out, hair styled back and face shaven clean.

Louis tugs on the burgundy silk scarf Harry has hanging around his neck. “If they all look like this, I might make it one.”

Harry drives them to the restaurant, and while the GPS says it’s a fifteen minute ride they end up making forty because of an accident on 46th street. 

He’s glad Louis picked him up early, and they manage to make in time to find Liam and an attractive, tall brunette waiting in the entrance.

“Sophia! Long time no see!” Louis kisses her on the cheek and hugs her. 

“Hi Lou, I know, how’ve you been?” 

Harry shakes Liam’s hand and guesses this must be his girlfriend. She’s really charming and kisses him on the cheek as well, complimenting him on his outfit.

“Thank you, you look stunning as well.” He smiles.

She does. With a skin tight gray dress and high heels, she really looked like a model.

They get in and are led to their table by the entrance, nearby a window. 

It’s Louis and Harry on one end and Liam and Sophia on the other, making it feel a bit like a double date.

The dinner turns out to be lovely. When the waitress comes to take their order she offers them a selection of wines.

“Actually, could you bring some champagne?” Liam gives her the menu back. “To celebrate, right guys?”

Harry decides to make some small talk with Liam's girlfriend.

Sophia works in the fashion industry, as both editor in Elle magazine and in a modeling agency. Harry is surprised when she tells him she doesn’t do modeling herself.

After their appetizers, Liam makes a toast, clinking glasses with Louis. “To a job well done and an amazing new song, hopefully there’ll be more to come.”

“And, to Harry Styles, the man who moved my furniture around and didn’t give up on me.” Louis adds, winking at him. 

“Cheers!”

Harry laughs, taking a sip from his sparkling glass.

Louis nudges him under the table with his foot, all smiles and crinkly eyes. 

He’s just finished asking Liam about what will happen after the song is recorded and Zayn goes on tour when he sees him.

There. 

Walking into the restaurant like he owns this place with a small party following him, just like he remembers him.

Nick Grimshaw.

“Oh my god.” Harry can feel his heart drop to his ass and his stomach twist into knots.

Louis seems to notice something’s wrong, a concerned look on his face. “Harry? What’s going on?” He asks through a mouthful of bread.

He can’t even speak. His brain has just shut down.

“Nick Grimshaw.” He whispers, afraid that acknowledging his presence will make him turn around and look at him.

“Nick Grimshaw?!” Louis repeats, rather loudly.

Harry’s eyes go impossibly wide as he sees Nick snap his head at that, but turns away when he finds nothing.

He’s at least four tables away and walking over to the bar with his entourage.

Liam and Sophia appear confused as well, looking around to find out what’s gotten Harry so shocked.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s just sat there gaping like an idiot, pulse beating hard on his head. 

“I have to go.” He rushes from his chair, looking for the nearest restroom and trying to avoid being seen by Grimshaw at all costs. 

Some of the customers seem to notice because they look at him weirdly when he ducks under a table, grabs a menu from an empty table and uses it to cover himself as he heads to the restroom.

He locks himself inside a stall, trying to regulate his breathing before he hyperventilates. 

He feels his throat beginning to close up, almost like it’s anaphylactic shock. 

Leaning his head against the door, he punches it once.

Of fucking course this would be just his luck.

“Harry?”

That’s Louis’ voice. He hears him softly rap on the stall.

He takes a deep breath, counts to five. “He’s at the bar.”

“Yeah, I know, I saw him.”

Harry sighs. “I hate everything.”

“He doesn’t look that great you know, that receding hairline is quite tragic.”

“He looks perfect.” Harry shakes his head. “As always. I think I’ll just stay here until he leaves.”

“What?”

He wipes his sweaty hands on his immaculate pants. This isn’t the way he expected this night to go. And right now he never wants to leave this bathroom stall.

“I’m gonna stay here. Maybe just, bring me some soup, and a small salad, please?”

“Right, let me get the waitress. Would you like to see the dessert cart as well?” Louis says, and he can almost picture him rolling his eyes. “Harry, this is ridiculous.”

He knows that, okay? He  _ knows _ . He’s known since he was twenty one.

“I’ve always wanted to confront him, you know? I’ve been dreaming of that, running into him and just, say everything to his face, have him look at me and regret what he did. Destroy him.”

He opens the door to his stall, popping his head out. “I even prepared a speech. Would you like to hear it?”

Louis just looks at him with a concerned look on his face for a long moment. “Absolutely, I’d like nothing more.”

He steps out, an old man washing his hands looking at them with a frown before leaving the restroom.

He takes a deep breath. “Nick Grimshaw, I hope you remember me, because I am the reason you are famous in the first place. Without me, you’d be nothing but a cheater, and I want you to know that what you did is a treacherous thing. Taking advantage of a younger man to abuse his trust and then profit from it? Even Hemingway had the decency to shoot himself. You are a vile human being and I will never forgive you for what you did to me. I hope it will haunt you to your deathbed, because even though Stuart Harrington lives on paper, I am real person and I am not something to be plagiarized.” He swallows. “Or something like that.”

He turns around to lean into the sink, sure that he’s going to throw up. Nothing comes out.

It’s just the bile of his gut acting out.

He looks into the mirror, trying to get a grip of himself. Louis catches his vision on the reflection.

“Now I know I could never actually say it to his face, which only makes it worse.”

“No, you have to, now is the perfect time. Look at you, you’re on top of the world!” Louis clasps him on the shoulder, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You have to do it, you’ll never get another chance like this one. You just wrote a song for the biggest singer on the planet, and you look smoking hot, Harry, you’re  _ winning _ .”

“I don’t think a silly pop song will impress Nick.”

Louis twists his mouth, looking down at the floor. “Right, because pop music is only for idiots.”

“Wait, Lou, you know I don’t mean it like that.” He winces. “Fuck.”

Suddenly, hot rage flashes inside him. He wants to beat the pulp out of Nick.

“Woah, hold on,” Louis stops him, eyes tracing his face. “What are you gonna do?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna touch him. I’m gonna go talk to him, right now.”

He wraps his hand around the doorknob, but halts. Can he really do this?

“I’ll come with you.” Louis offers.

“What if he doesn’t even remember me, and I just end up looking like a total creep?”

“The man wrote a book about you, I’m pretty sure he remembers.”

“Oh god.” He can’t think it over too much or else he’s gonna chicken out.

“Come on, let’s go, you can do it.”

He shakes his head as Louis takes his hand and leads him out of the restroom. “I don’t feel very good.”

“You’re fine.”

“I think I’m developing a sudden coronary blockage.” He presses his free hand against his chest. “Shortness of breath. Tingly sensation. Atherosclerosis?”

Louis ignores him, and they get to where Nick is laughing and talking with his friends.

His back is facing them, so Louis, with all the height he can muster, taps him on the shoulder.

Nick turns around, laughter dying on his throat when he sees him. “Harry?” He has a wine glass on his hand. “Oh my god, Harry Styles, is that you?”

He flashes him that disarming, cocky smile, and takes him by the arm, pulling him into a light hug.

Harry’s eyes are wide open and his words are frozen in midair. “I…”

He’s thankful but also not when Louis steps in for him. “Hi.” Nick turns to look at him. “Uhm. Louis Tomlinson, hi.”

He shakes his hand, returning his attention to Harry. “It’s been so long, god, it’s been… what? Four, five years?”

Five years and nine months, to be exact. 

“Yeah. You, uhm. I just saw you from there, and you’re here now.” Harry says, hands trembling a little bit.

“He is writing a song for Zayn Malik.” Louis points a finger at him, arching an eyebrow. 

Nick tilts his head. “Wait, what? You’re a songwriter now? I can’t believe that.”

“Listen, the thing is, Nick, can I call you Nick?” Louis says, confident and a little bold, and Harry wishes he could be like that. “The thing is, the book you wrote has caused my friend-”

A man comes up to him. “Mr. Grimshaw, your table’s ready.”

If he’s gonna say something, he needs to say it now, because Nick’s friends are already standing up and walking to their table. Nick tells them he’ll just take a second. 

“I’m sorry about that, my friends are throwing me a little party, things have been hectic since Hollywood called.”

Harry blinks once. “Hollywood?”

“Yeah, I sold out. They’re making a film of Stuart Harrington, can you believe that?”

“Really?” He asks, because that’s all he can do to keep from jumping on this man.

“Yeah, it’s been crazy,” Nick laughs like it’s actually funny. “I wrote the script, we’ve been seeing actors, it’s gonna be great.”

“Wow.” Harry nods, a smile on his face. 

“But listen, we should get together sometime, okay? We can catch up.” Nick hugs him again. “Take care of yourself, Harry. It was good seeing you.”

He turns to look at Louis, nodding at him. “Take care, Lewis.” 

And with that, he’s gone.

“Well, glad that’s over and done with.” Louis says, rolling on the ball of his feet.

Harry glares at him, trying to relax his clenched jaw. “I cannot believe that actually happened.”

They stand there for a moment, but Harry can’t take this anymore. He has to do something, otherwise he knows he will regret it for the rest of his life.

With Louis’ hand on his back for support, he walks over to Nick’s table, who’s taking a seat.

“Listen, Nick, can I talk to you for a second, please?”

Nick stands up, but doesn’t walk far from his table, an expectant look on his face. 

“I…” He tries to remember how his fucking speech started, but comes up blank. The only thing he feels right now is betrayal and anger.

“What? What is it Harry?” Nick asks, clearly bothered. “You don’t think I know what you came here to say?”

“You’re a dick.”

Nick has the nerve to snort, opens his mouth to reply.

“No, you don’t get a say in this. You’re a real dick, and you know it.” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “A fucking movie? Really? What, exposing my life on page wasn’t enough, so now you wanna reach over to other demographics?” 

He’s aware his voice just got louder, a couple of tables around them turning to look at them.

“Look, Harry, you’re making a scene. Is that really what you want? They’ll kick you and your monkey out.”

Louis frowns. “Hey!”

“But I guess that what you’ve always wanted, to have people pay attention to you.”

Harry ignores that. “I cannot believe you could actually be this heartless. I begged you not to publish the book, Nick. I fucking begged.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry I didn’t touch my heart to spare a poor student of his misery. That’s the real world, Harry.”

Hot tears of anger spring on Harry’s eyes. 

“Do you want me to apologize? To pull the book out of print, and make Hollywood drop the movie? This is bigger than you, and I think you had it coming. Hey, at least this way you won’t actually fade into oblivion, so think of it this way. I made you a favor.”

It’s like a stun gun to Harry’s chest. It actually leaves him speechless.

“Did I forget anything? No? Okay, then I’ll be getting back to my dinner.” Nick smiles sourly at the both of them, and goes back to his table.

“Wait.” Louis steps forward, grabbing him by his jacket. “You did forget something.” 

Nick turns around. “What?”

“This!” Louis swings his arm and just  _ punches _ Nick square on the face, making him stumble back a bit.

That’s when the people actually stop to look at them. Nick is on Louis so fast, Harry barely has time to register what’s going on.

This is an actual fistfight. 

He tries to grab Nick’s arm to twist it on his back, but then Liam is right there beside him and yelling loud enough for the whole street to hear.

“That’s enough! He has a presentation next week, don’t punch him on the face!”

When Harry sees Nick’s fist collide with Louis’ jaw, he sees red.

Twisting both of Nick’s arms, he bends him over the nearest table, shoving his face down.

“Don’t touch Louis!”

“I give up, I give up, my face is on the butter!” Nick mutters.

Harry turns to look at Louis, who’s being held up by Liam. Two waiters are right behind them.

“Sir? I’m going to need you to exit the restaurant, or we’ll call the police.” A stern voice says.

Harry lets Nick go, raising his hands on the air. “He started it.”

“Is that true?” The man whom Harry assumes is the manager asks to the table next to them.

A black man looks up at Harry, hesitating. Then he nods. “Yes, we saw it.”

Harry suppresses a smile. 

“Then I’m afraid I’m going to need you to wait here while the police show up.” He says to Nick.

“And you, please leave the restaurant immediately.”

Harry helps Louis out of the restaurant, Liam and Sophia behind them. “Harry, I’m fine, I told you, he barely grazed me.” 

“You have a split lip, Lou.” Liam says. 

“I’ve had worse and you know it, Li.” He replies, grinning.

Sophia laughs. “Louis Tomlinson, I’ve known you for five years and I had never seen you get into an actual fight with someone.”

Louis laughs, and Harry's eyes inspect the slight swollen part of his jaw. It'll bruise by tomorrow, probably. 

“I was trying to give you some entertainment, Soph.”

“Dinner and a show,” Liam adds, already a bit calmer about the whole thing. There was a moment there where Harry thought Liam was actually going to start throwing punches too. 

“Dinner and a show.” Louis agrees, eyes crinkled at the corners and Harry can't do anything but sigh.

Harry drives them off into the night after saying goodbye to Liam and Sophia, foot pressed to the gas pedal and left hand on the steering wheel.

His right hand is on Louis‘ thigh, and he eyes him a bit worried still. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to the ER?”

Louis throws his head back, chuckling lightly. “Harry I took one punch, he didn't stab me in the leg.”

The car’s engine hums smoothly as he takes the exit to Louis’ place and speeds across the almost empty road.

“I still can't believe you got into a fight with Nick Grimshaw.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Louis rubs absentmindedly at his sore jaw. “The guy’s an even bigger wimp than I am.”

Harry smiles at that.

“And when you had him against the table? Oh my god,” Louis moves his hands around excitedly, like a little kid. “Do you remember that? He was like ‘Ahhh! I give up! I have butter all over my face!’ That was hilarious.”

He pulls over in a drug store. “At least let me put something on that nasty cut.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“I'm guessing you never got that first aid kit I told you to?” He raises an eyebrow, shutting the car door behind him and opening up Louis’ side.

Harry decides to stock up on anything he thinks might be of use to Louis. 

“Are you allergic to penicillin?” He asks Louis.

“What is that?”

Harry just blinks at him. He figures he might as well buy both penicillin and penicillin-free medication. Some neosporin too. 

Louis strolls up to him and casually places a box in the basket. “I wanna get these.”

Harry glances at the dinosaur band-aids. Band-aids. Right. There are some special ones made to treat burns, he's gonna get those too.

While he's busy reading the description on two different stomachache meds, Louis keeps coming back and forth dropping more stuff in the basket.

The cashier rings up their products as Harry takes them out of the basket. There's dozens of chocolates and candies in different sizes and presentations. 

“What's all this?” He asks Louis.

“Necessary stuff for my first aid kit.”

Harry takes out his wallet, glaring at the man who's just gone off to get more candy bars. 

The redheaded cashier looks at him. “That'll be a hundred seventeen with fifty, sir.”

He hands him his bagged goods. 

“Aw, I brought more Reese's!” Louis says, pouting. 

“Sorry, I already paid, let's go.” 

“You sure you got everything?” Louis asks, taking the bag into his hand to see how heavy it is.

“I bought you all that tooth-rooting candy, shut up.” He turns the car ignition, looking at Louis.

“My hero.” Louis smirks.

“Now let's get you home.”

 

***

 

Louis feels something cold press to his face. 

“Ow,” He winces.

“It’ll help with the swelling.” Harry’s thumb caresses softly at his skin. “Don’t move, Louis.”

He’s given a little butterfly bandage for his lip cut, but it stays all of five minutes before he peels it off, impatient.

Harry comes back from the bathroom, and Louis looks up at him from his sitting position on the couch. “You look all kinds of delicious this evening, did I tell you?”

He does. The all black outfit made him look mysterious and sexy, jacket fitting snugly against his broad frame. The light caught on his silky, patterned scarf and his hair was perfect.

Harry looks a bit sheepish. “Thanks. So do you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told I pull off the beaten up look quite well.”

Harry sits down next to him, legs pressed together, and smiles sweetly at him. “What you did was amazing. A bit stupid, but amazing.”

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“I mean, I could’ve never imagined one day I’d even work up the courage to confront Nick.”

Louis pats his thigh. “Hey, the guy deserved it. And I’m glad you could do it, Haz.”

“Now I owe you my entire life,” Harry laughs.

“Oh, stop it, you’re making me blush.” He looks down at the floor, cards a hand through his hair.

“No, Louis, I’m serious,” Harry insists. “You have no idea how liberating that was. All these years, I’ve lived with that weight on my shoulders - a ghost hanging over my head. I will never regret what I did tonight.” He pauses, swallowing. “And that right swing was great too.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, but I would’ve done it no matter what happened.” Louis puts his hands to his head, gripping his hair. “God, the guy’s such a fucking jerk. Even if he’d never done anything to you, I’d still hate him.”

Harry dabbs a bit of ointment on his jaw, stifles a laugh.

“He called me a monkey. I’ve been insulted better by ten year olds.” 

After wiping clean his lip - nothing more than a papercut, really, Harry’s so dramatic, - Louis turns his body to him, breath hitching just the tiniest bit with a pair of green eyes inches away from his face. 

“Thank you. For everything.” Harry muses, and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Louis’ hands snake into his curls of their own accord, and he returns the kiss. 

They exchange a sealed lip kiss for a moment, just breathing each other in. Louis absolutely loves his cologne tonight. He could bask in it all night.

A slick tongue swipes against his swollen bottom lip, soothing the cut. Louis whines in the back of his throat.

Louis feels completely content making out with Harry on his couch after receiving a punch to the jaw.

  
  


***

 

The shopping assistant shows Louis two different sets of fountain pens, but in all honesty it’s all the same to him.

He seems to notice this, because he smiles a bit condescendingly and puts away the leather case. “May I ask, sir, what do you intend to use them for?”

Louis bites his lip, peers down at the message lighting up his phone. “Uhm.”

He figured Mont Blanc was a good enough store to go find pens, but for fuck’s sake, why do they even have so many? It makes it hard to choose.

**Meet you @ the studio? I get off at 4:30**

It was a text from Harry.

He taps out a quick yes and snaps back up to the assistant when he clears his throat.

He was old and snotty, and clearly looked down on Louis. Louis doesn’t like him.

“They’re a gift, actually. For someone who really likes to write?” The second part came out as a question.

Fuck, what is he even doing here? If the pens are too much, Harry’s gonna think he’s creepy and obsessed and in love; and if they’re shitty it’s gonna be like ‘Wow, you didn’t have to. Really, you didn’t.’

After a different, much nicer assistant takes over, they kindly suggest he buys a writers edition set. 

“I want that one,” He says, pointing at a picture of the prettiest set he sees. 

“That’s the William Faulkner edition, sir. It comes with a fountain pen, a ballpoint pen, and a propelling pencil.”

He’s sure Harry’s going to love it.

The rest of the day Louis dedicates to his salon appointment, where Jac, his hair stylist, convinces him that his feathered fringe is in again, and makes him take an oil treatment that’ll ‘naturally lighten your hair plus give it shine and texture, come on Louis’.

“I don’t wanna be blond, though!” He says worriedly from his place on the washing station.

“Oh, stop crying, it won’t  _ color _ your hair, it’s just going to let in more light, duh.”

He checks his watch when the cab drops him off at the studio in Soho, a red brick warehouse with an iron door and no plate or number. He’s ten minutes late, but hasn’t gotten a reply from Harry, so he assumes he’s already in there. 

The high ceilings and crystal walls are not what Louis expected from a warehouse in the back of an alley, but the place is quite fancy.

He finds Harry talking to one of Zayn’s assistants, obviously getting into whatever story he’s telling.

But then he looks up and catches Louis standing there awkwardly in his ratty Vans, waving at him once. 

Harry grins at him, and excuses himself from the man to go greet Louis.

“Hey, we thought you’d gotten lost,” Louis gets crushed in a hug, taking some air out of him.

“Yeah, not really, but I texted you.”

“Shoot! I ran out of battery, my phone’s in there charging. Sorry.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “That’s okay.”

“Hey! You changed your hair!”

Louis smiles sheepishly. “A bit, yeah. Hah, you like it?”

“I think it looks brilliant,” Harry says, smiling widely.

“Uh, I actually got a present for you.” Louis says,  a bit nervous. Why is he nervous?

He only hopes Harry likes it.

Harry’s face lights up like a little kid on Christmas morning. “What? Aw, Lou, you didn’t have to. I didn’t get you anything, makes me feel bad.”

Louis takes out the unwrapped box, places it on Harry’s hands.

“Tada!”

Harry turns it over to see what it is, but the black box has nothing on it.

He opens it carefully, sees the leather case with the pen’s brand engraved on it at the same time that his eyes widen impossibly.

“Louis,” He gasps. He take out one of the pens, rolling it between his nimble fingers and staring at it enamoured. 

“Do you like it?”

Harry raises his eyes to look at him, mouth wide open. “I don’t know what to say, I… Yes, of course, I love it.”

He peers inside the box, pleased with himself and with Harry’s reaction.

“Oh my god. Louis, this is too much, I can’t take it.” Harry says, but a smile is tugging on his lips.

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” Louis squeezes his bicep.

“Thank you. They’re amazing, thank you.”

“A new set for a new writer,” He says quietly, clearing his throat. “So you can write down all you want without any fear.”

Harry bites his lip, scrutinizes Louis’ face, the look on his eyes unreadable.

Louis always stays speechless when Harry looks at him like that. Honestly, it’s kind of annoying. 

“I wanted you guys to hear the new intro we thought of for the song,” Zayn’s manager explains, clicking a remote.

Zayn is standing next to him, wearing an Adidas tracksuit zipped up, his hair soft-looking without all the product spiking it up. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Louis and Harry are sitting on bean bags in the spacious recording booth, and exchange a look with each other.

“So imagine, instead of the piano, it’s going to start with this heavy, rhythmic thing going on, and then a sitar starts playing.” The manager smiles excitedly, and clicks play on the music.

The sounds coming out of the speakers are an strange mixture of indian music and a drum beat, and Louis recognizes his and Harry’s voice thrown into the track, remixed so heavily that the words are no longer understandable.

“Uhm…” Harry raises his hand like a school boy in English class, but gets drowned out by the music.

“Jay, give me a beat that’s steamy and sticky,” Zayn steps up with a girl in leggings next to him, start marking a choreography together, and, are those moans coming from the speakers?

A guy in the back starts beatboxing into a microphone while Zayn grinds with the girl.

Harry turns to look at Louis, clearly upset. “I think I have to puke.”

He stands up and goes to open the door, but Zayn sees this and signals the music to stop. “Wait, what’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

Harry looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uhm. No, it’s just, I need to pee.”

Louis stands up quickly. “Yeah, drank too much water, don’t mind him.”

Zayn’s manager peeps in. “That’s the arrangement we wanna do, and on Saturday when you perform with Zayn, we want you to dance as well.”

Zayn smiles. “So, what do you think?”

“Listen, Zayn, I just think that our song-”

“Is a great way for you to express yourself,” Louis cuts Harry hurriedly. “And I think what you’re doing is really… innovative. That new beat, uh, it’s great, it’s steamy  _ and _ it’s sticky.”

Zayn bows in gratitude, folding his hands. “I really like what we came up with here.”

Harry sighs. “Yes, it’s something interesting, but I just think that-”

“The sitar is something else, seriously, great call,” Louis nods eagerly, placing a hand on Harry’s back and forcing him to bow too. 

“Also, write another verse for the intro. We think it needs new lines.” Zayn’s manager adds, shrugging. 

“But-”

“Okay, right. Well, thank you Zayn, for everything.” Louis gives Harry a stern look. He better keep his mouth shut. “In that case, we’ll be going now.”

“Okay.” Zayn smiles. “Oh, and I’m having a little pre-release party at my place on Wednesday, and I want you both to come. That would be all. Thank you.” 

With that, he dismisses them both and goes back to his choreography. 

“Don’t say anything, just walk away,” Louis mutters to Harry, and leaves the studio with him trailing behind.

Out on the street, Harry is still frowning, deep in thought.

“You didn’t actually like that orgasmic disaster set to sitar music, did you?”

“Uh… I thought it was, y’know - horrible.” Louis winces, scratching the back of his head.

“I mean, it simultaneously destroyed our song and appropriated indian culture in under a minute.” 

Louis shrugs. “What is done is done, I mean, there’s not much we can do.”

They get to the main avenue and walk down the busy street, but Harry won’t let this go.

“No, we have to tell him! We can’t let him do this to our song.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, but it’s not like you can tell Zayn Malik his idea is shitty. If he wants to dance, let him dance.”

Harry rubs his eyes and temples. “Fine. Whatever.” He hails a cab. “I just, I need to go help Niall with something, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah, so we can write that intro Zayn wants.”

“Right. Take care, Lou.” Harry gets into the cab without kissing him goodbye.

Whatever.

He goes back to his apartment and he tries to throw something together for dinner - but with no success.

He blames it on Harry, for getting him used to actual meals in the past few days. In the end, when the chicken breast is half raw and half crispy burnt, and the fire alarm is shut down, he decides to order russian food.

Crossing his legs on the couch, Louis takes a bite of his pierogis and gets comfy under a blanket. 

Zapping the TV he settles on a rom com about a guy who has three weeks to meet the love of his life, or he’ll never love again. 

Louis falls asleep on the couch around midnight, and doesn’t wake up until the wee hours of the morning, when he drags himself to bed and falls back asleep with his clothes still on.

 

***

 

Louis walks in after receiving no response from his knock. 

He finds Harry lying on the floor with his long limbs splayed like a starfish, eyes closed and some stray curls fanning over his face.

He guesses Niall isn’t home.

“Uhm…” Louis takes a look around, the CD sleeves scattered around and the music pumping from the speakers at a fairly high volume.

Harry has his eyes closed, mouthing along to the lyrics.

He’s blasting LCD Soundsystem and probably hasn’t taken notice of Louis’ presence.

Louis rolls his eyes, tries not to linger too long on the stripe of skin peeking under Harry’s ridden up shirt, and goes to pick up the remote and stop the music.

But then Harry snaps his eyes open, looking straight at Louis, and keeps mouthing the words.

 

_ But we won’t be your babies anymore _

_ No, we won’t be your babies anymore _

 

He waits for Harry to stand up, or say something, but that moment doesn’t come. He sighs.

The drawer next to the TV has a notepad lying on it. Louis takes it, goes sit on the couch and taps Harry on the head.

“Come on, we have to write this new intro,” He nudges, handing Harry the notepad.

Harry takes it without saying anything, sits up on the floor.

“Okay, so? What do you got?” Harry just shrugs. “Come on, just write something.”

Harry’s brow is furrowed. “I don’t have any pens.”

“Well, grab something else.”

Harry sits on his hands, does nothing else. Louis knows he’s irked by the whole arrangement thing and got all defensive of their song, but come on. 

“Oh, seriously? You’re not gonna write?”

Harry shrugs. “There’s nothing to write with.”

“You mean there’s not one single pencil, nothing, in this whole place?” Louis just scoffs. If that’s Harry’s excuse, he’s going to kick him.

“Fine, I’ll go find something for you to write with,” He walks towards the hallway. “I’m sure Niall has something.”

Harry stands up. “Wait, no, he has nothing, stay out of his bedroom! He’ll kill you.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, laughing. “Niall loves me.”

“We have no pens here, not even pencils, we’re against lead-containing pencils!”

“Harry, you’re being childish!” Louis huffs in frustration. “Stop whining and let’s write this thing now, we have until tomorrow!”

Harry sits on the edge of the couch, crosses his arms. “No.”

“What?”

“No, Louis, they’re trying to change our song! You heard Zayn, he made it clear enough that he wanted it to be faster and sexier and - not our song. I don’t even know what he wants.”

From the speakers comes the voice of the singer, talking about how his band doesn’t do hits for the sake of doing hits.

 

_ Yeah, you wanted a hit _

_ But tell me, where’s the point in it? _

_ You wanted a hit _

_ But that’s not what we do _

 

How very convenient.

The record ends and leaves the room silent.

Harry looks a bit anxious, and somehow that sets Louis off. “What? Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just four lines! Just write them and get this over with.”

“I can’t. We have to tell Zayn, I can’t work this way.”

“You can’t work this way? Give me a break, you’ve only been a songwriter for six days!”

Harry grips his hair, tugging harshly. “This is not right, and you know it. They’re trying to corrupt our song to sell it to the masses, and you’re gonna let them? What about your heroes, Louis? David Bowie wouldn’t let this happen, he would stand up for what’s right!”

“This is not the same thing, Harry. I am  _ not _ Bowie. I can’t afford to just fucking turn a gig down. This is a job, and if I don’t get this intro for Zayn, I’m gonna lose it.” Louis swallows around the lump in his throat. Harry can’t possibly be this fucking stubborn.

“You could tell him you don’t want this, that the song is intended to be something else. Why don’t you do that? Or I can tell him.”

Louis frowns. “I can’t just tell him to fuck off, that’s ridiculous.”

“Right, because it’s a pop song, and all they care about is selling units. I forgot.” Harry hangs his head between his hands. “I’m sorry, Lou, I really want to help, but I can’t. I’m not - I’m not inspired.”

“I don’t care about inspiration! I could give two shits about inspiration, right now I need these lyrics!”

“I can’t.” Harry shakes his head, eyes glassy.

“Oh, you can but you won’t! You’ve written three fourths of a song and now you won’t finish because you’re not getting your way? Grow up, Harry.”

“Are you saying I wanted this to happen?” Harry raises his voice. “What the fuck? I’ve done nothing but help you, I wrote this song because you asked me to!”

“Yeah, and now you just won’t!”

“See? God, I fucking hate popstars! All you do is sell out and not care if you lose complete artistic integrity, you can’t - you can’t even stay true to yourself!” Harry stands up from the couch, gesturing with his hands. “This is the reason why your album flopped, Louis. You cared more about pleasing people and trying to create a popular sound than about doing what  _ you _ wanted to do!”

“What?” Louis shakes his head.

“I’m saying that your album sucked because you sold out,” Harry glares at him. “And now you’re willing to do the same to the first good song you’ve written in ages!”

“Wow,” Harry’s really getting on Louis’ nerves. He can feel himself getting angry for real, and he can’t stop it. “So this is the real Harry Styles.”

The acid pumps into his veins, and he grinds his teeth. Harry blinks up at him, still pissed off but a little confused as well.

“You push and push and cry about how life’s not fair, but when you get to do something great, you just fucking - god, just like he said!”

“Who did? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying Nick Grimshaw was right!” Louis laughs bitterly. “I read the stupid book so I could tell you ‘oh, you’re not at all like Stuart Harrington’, but you know what? He’s actually got you spot on!”

Harry’s face is white with shock. His big green eyes blink away the tears. “Don’t.”

“The poor little boy, always playing the martyr. ‘Oh, I can’t write!’ he says to himself, and when he does he decides to hold the song ransom because he’s not getting exactly what he fucking wants! And fuck everybody, because if Harry doesn’t get his way then he’ll cry and screw everything up and say ‘I’m just being true to myself’. Well, guess what Harry, I’ve got news for you, you’re not the only person in the world! You think life is a fairytale and when you don’t get your happily ever after you can’t deal with it.”

A silence comes between them, Louis’ breathing shallow. 

He was never good at holding back his tongue. 

Harry sniffs. “I think you should go.”

Louis stares him in the eye. He’s gonna leave him alone, isn’t he? “You know what, I’ll just finish this song myself. See you at the party tomorrow, pal.”

He leaves the apartment without looking back. Once he’s put three or four blocks between them, he stops and takes out his phone.

“Li? Hey, sorry if you’re busy, uh…” 

“Louis? You okay?”

He’s not going to cry. He’s  _ not _ .

“Yeah, ‘m good. I was just wondering, how long do we have to write this thing?”

 

***

 

The party turns out to be more than just an intimate affair. Zayn’s place is a three story building painted black, which. If that’s supposed to be trendy then Louis is so out of the loop.

Louis can see the masses of people already dancing through the enormous windows. 

Inside, the music is deafening and Louis looks around, trying to find a familiar face. Most of the people he doesn’t recognize, probably models, up and coming artists, friends of Zayn who probably wouldn’t care to come if it wasn’t for his fame.

Louis sighs. He knows what that’s like. 

His house is white walls on the inside, carpeted floors and paintings and sculptures littering the receiver. There’s no ceiling up until the third floor, and a huge red pillar sits in the middle of the house, screens showing a slideshow of pictures of Zayn.

But the party host is nowhere to be seen, so grabbing a cocktail from a waiter carrying a tray, he decides to get upstairs and see if he finds anyone that isn’t Harry.

Louis wonders if the paintings, some framed, some etched directly on the wall surface, are bought, or perhaps some are the singer’s own creation, seeing as he doesn’t recognize most of them. There’s a wall on the far end completely covered in spray paint, with banners, words, drawings and faces painted.

If that’s the case, Louis thinks it’s awesome.

On his way up he finds Zayn’s manager, who gives him a one armed hug and smiles. “Hey man, how’s it going? Thanks for coming.”

“Great, thanks, uh, have you seen Liam?”

He’s already greeting new people. “Who?”

“My manager.”

“Sorry, man. But enjoy the party!” He says distractedly, and goes off to talk to someone else.

The staircase is clogged with performance artists dressed in red and black skin suits. Every minute or so, they change positions, connected to each other like a living system. He tries to avoid them on his way up the best he can.

In the second story he strolls around for a bit, sipping his bright green cocktail, when he catches Liam on the other side of the room.

His manager waves to him and walks over, drinking something light orange. 

“Hey,” Liam grins at him. “So tell me, how did the studio meeting went?”

Louis just sips his drink.

“Well. Then tell me what happened yesterday, you sounded so upset.”

He figures he might as well spill the beans now, and he speaks against the rim of his glass. “I got into a fight with Harry.”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? Why? Oh god, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. If it was something related to your relationship then I’m just gonna say ‘I told you so’.”

Louis scoffs at him. “It wasn't something related to our relationship. We don’t even have a  _ relationship _ . It was related to the song.”

“Oh. What was it?”

“Harry hates the song.”

“What? He hates it? But he wrote it.”

Louis downs the last of his drink and waits to have another one. “He hates it.”

“Why would he hate it if he wrote it?” Liam asks, completely confused.

“Well, Zayn and his people… they decided to change the song and we had a little disagreement.”

“Huh.” Liam frowns. “Well, that’s… unfortunate.”

Louis really wishes he was drunk right now. So he makes it his goal to do so, giving a waitress his empty glass and taking two more for himself.

Liam pats him on the back. “Just watch yourself, okay? Don’t wanna have to carry you out of here.”

He peers down at the people dancing and laughing from his spot on the stair rail, when he sees Harry walking in. He doesn’t see Louis, just gets across the room with a lost look on his face, tugging on his bottom lip the way he does when he’s nervous.

Fuck.

He looks so good in just skinny black jeans and a white t-shirt, it’s not fucking fair.

Louis walks away from the railing, hoping he won’t run into Harry at some point. 

It’s not like he’s avoiding him, he just… wants to leave the party without seeing him.

Getting lost in Zayn’s house is a bit too easy with all the doors and hallways, but he wants to get away from the music and the people, god, so many fucking people, so he slips up the stairs to the third floor, drink sloshing on the carpet a bit. 

What he doesn’t expect is to find Zayn sitting on a king size bed with his back to the door, shoulders a bit hunched.

“Oh, sorry…” He’s already a little tipsy, and frowns himself. “I’m just - I’m gonna go.”

Zayn turns to look at him, a bit startled. “No, that’s okay. Just, shut the door, please?”

Louis does so without saying anything.

“Uhm.” This kid is throwing a party. He’s supposed to be out there, right? Partying like an animal, flirting with everyone and drinking away the night.

Or something.

“What brought you here, man? Party not good enough for you?” Zayn says quietly with a hint of humor in his voice, blowing smoke out.

Louis shakes his head, though Zayn can’t see him. “Just trying to get away from someone.”

Zayn hums around his cigarette, and that’s.

That’s no cigarette. Louis didn’t notice the smell at first, but now he’s sure Zayn is smoking pot.

“D’you want some?” Zayn asks after a beat.

Louis blinks up at him.

“Yeah, why the hell not.”

Louis licks his lips, head resting on the soft comforter of Zayn’s bed. “It’s like, he knew exactly what to say to hurt me, y’know?”

Zayn hums. “This Harry guy, man, he’s good. The lyrics are fucking heartbreaking, bro.”

Bro.

He’s already at the point in his life where he smokes up with kids ten years younger than him who call him bro.

He supposes he could do worse. 

“Were you guys like a thing, or…” Zayn quips after Louis doesn’t respond.

He grabs the spliff Zayn passes him, taking a deep, sweet drag.

“Yeah, yeah, I suppose. I don’t really know.” Louis snorts, feeling the burn of the smoke tickle his throat. “Man, this is some good shit.”

Zayn chuckles.

They’re both quiet for a while, Louis lost track of the time. He’s probably been here for a good hour now.

Which reminds him. “Hey, how come you’re not at your own party, bro?”

“I just - I don’t really dig parties, y’know? Like, I know all these people must think I’m an asshole or somethin’, too good for them or whatever. But I didn’t even want this party, I don’t know half the people here.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow.

“My manager thought it’d be a good idea, promote the album, have some pictures taken for the media, whatever.”

Wow. Louis would've never thought Zayn was so laid back. Maybe even a bit of an introvert.

He tells Zayn this. “Thought you were an asshole, actually.”

Zayn giggles. 

“No, seriously, with your leather jackets and your choreographies and sexual innuendos not so hidden on your songs.”

“Nah, bro, that's just my image. What my team wants people to see of me.” He puffs the smoke in little rings. “Can be fucking frustrating, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs drily. “I get what you mean.”

Louis was the same way for a long time. His team created this persona for him, and it took him a lot to get rid of it, years later.

When they finish the second joint Louis already feels all fluffy inside.

It's a nice feeling he missed.

“Louis?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

“I was asking why'd you and Harry fight.”

“Well,” He sighs. He decides to leave the details including Zayn out of it. “We just said some nasty things, things we didn't mean.”

At least Louis didn't mean what he said.

“That sucks. Have you tried apologizing?” 

“Uh… No, not really.” He figures he should do it, but what if Harry tells him to fuck off?

He knows he was way out of line with what he said. But Harry was, too.

A while later Zayn decides it's time to make an appearance, and walks out the room with Louis next to him.

“You're dropping by the studio tomorrow, right? So we can record the song?” 

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.” Louis sniffs, blinking under the bright lights. 

“Cool.” Zayn smiles at him crookedly, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You're a good man, Louis.”

Louis laughs. “Thanks. I guess I'm gonna go, see if I can find my manager.”

Zayn nods, starts heading in the other direction.

Louis figures he might as well try now. “Zayn! Listen, uhm. About the song, d’you think we could talk about it tomorrow? I think it's really good the way we intended it to be, and I'm not sure about some of the changes…”

“Yeah, okay. We can talk about it, tomorrow at the studio?”

“Sure.” Louis smiles. “Thanks.”

Zayn pats him on the shoulder and disappears into the crowd. 

Going for a gasp of fresh air into the roof garden, Louis looks over the ledge, waiting for the high to wear off.

He makes chit chat with a guy who works for a music magazine, when he catches a blur of curly hair and long legs out of the corner of his eye.

He decidedly doesn’t look in Harry’s direction. He can go jump off a bridge, for all he cares.

And if he makes a show of his conversation with this Alex, laughing and grabbing his arm, well, only he has to know.

When a waiter offers them some tapas, he uses that to his advantage and sends a sneaky glance to Harry.

He's sitting on a bench with a little group around him, talking and gesturing wildly.

Well, at least he's enjoying himself.

Harry looks up before he can turn away, and catches his gaze. 

Louis holds his look. He's not going to back down.

But something sad and cold settles in his stomach like a stone, and he presses his lips together, looking away.

He knows they have to talk eventually. And he has to apologize. He's just. He's never been good at that, plus, he's still a little mad.

Alan, is that his name, excuses himself after a while, and Louis goes off to drink some more.

Alone or accompanied, he's going to get plastered.

Liam finds him a couple hours later, sitting on a couch and talking to a nice lady with pink hair.

“There you are,” Liam gives him a look. “How drunk are you right now?”

“He's pretty wasted,” The pink lady giggles.

“Hey! That's not true. Liam, this is Rose, she's a visual artist and she has three cats.”

Liam smiles briefly at her. “Hi there. Lou, we gotta get you home.”

“I don't want to!” He pouts. What he wants is another drink. Enough to forget the way Harry ignored him when they ran into each other on the way out of the bathroom. 

“A bunch of us are hitting a club after this, wanna tag along?” Rose asks.

“Yeah!”

“No, he doesn't. Thank you, Rose, but it's well past his bedtime.”

Rose giggles again. “Okie dokie, then. You sure you're okay with him?”

“He's a pain in the ass, but don't worry love, I'll be okay.”

“He was asking me, Louis.” Liam rolls his eyes.

Right.

“D’you wanna go home, Louis?”

All he wants is to forget the green eyes that are burned behind his eyelids.

But before he can form a word, bile creeps up his throat, esophagus burning.

“Oh, fuck. I'm gonna throw up.”

 

***

 

Harry wakes up with sunlight burning his corneas off. 

“Ahh! Make it stop!”

He buries his head underneath the blankets.

Who could possibly be so heartless as to do such a thing to him?

“Okay Harry, I let you sleep in but it's one already and I know how much you hate wasting an entire day on bed.” Niall draws open the curtains, places a glass of water and some aspirins on the bedside table. 

Harry groans. “I feel like something crawled into my throat and died there.”

“Yeah, you were pretty wasted last night, man.” Niall snorts.

He sits up on the bed slowly, but his head spins all the same and he watches white spots dancing on his vision. 

“Ow.” Then he registers what Niall said. “Wait, it's one already? I had work!”

“Don't worry, I called in sick for you. They said to get better.” Niall sits on the edge of the bed.

“Niall, you sweet angel. I love you.” Harry sighs in relief. 

He gulps down the water on one take. 

“So, I assume it was a good party?” Niall smirks.

Harry pauses for a moment. “You know what, I don't remember.”

It's true. He doesn't remember much of last night. What he does remember, is a tiny waist cinched with a white blazer, long lashes, blue eyes open wide when he bumped into -

Louis.

He just wanted to forget about him last night, and one thing led to another and suddenly he was in some Soho nightclub, drinking nonstop and dancing with a bunch of people he didn't really know. 

“Fuck.” Harry lets his head fall to the pillow again, a headache already on its way. 

“That bad, huh?” Niall shakes his head. 

“What time did I get here?” Harry asks, voice raspy. 

“About five thirty, I think. It's a good thing I have the evening shift today, otherwise I would've killed you.” Niall laughs at the memory. “You showed up with a missing shoe. Said you left it on the cab, and then began crying ‘cause a squirrel ran away from you. Anyways, you couldn't open the door and woke me up with your banging.”

Wow. That sounds like quite a bender.

After Niall leaves and goes prepare something to eat, Harry washes up and rinses with enough Listerine to kill whatever crawled down his throat. 

“You want some?” Niall asks, dishing up a plate.

The smell of buttery, fried scramble almost makes him gag.

“Nah, I'm good. Think I'm gonna hit the gym, though. Y’know, sweat off the alcohol.” 

“You're too healthy, man.” Niall laughs. “Suit yourself.”

He gulps down another bottle of water before leaving, pocketing his phone and wallet.

“Hey, Harry?” Niall calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“I know you and Louis fought and everything, but are we still up for the concert on Saturday?”

Harry sniffs. “Uh, yeah. Promised Gemma to take her, so.” 

He goes to the gym for two hours straight, hitting the treadmill and following up with leg and stomach workouts. 

He buys a green juice when he's done and knows he will be able to keep it down.

By the evening he's feeling well again, and him and Niall decide to have a night in and watch something cheesy on Netflix. 

“So… do you wanna talk about it?” Niall asks when the end credits roll around. 

Harry sighs. “Not really.”

Niall doesn’t push any further. 

He crawls next to him, placing his head on Niall’s lap. He starts running his hand through the strands of hair, scratching his scalp. Harry likes that.

“I don’t think he actually knows how much it  _ hurt _ me, Ni,” He mumbles. “I know we were both angry and I said some pretty bad stuff too, but. It’s like that one episode of Friends.”

“Which one?” Niall asks softly.

“You know, the one where Rachel finds the list Ross made, with pros and cons about her? What does she say, uh… it’s like the worst things that you think about yourself, somebody you trust thinks them too, and uses them as reasons not to be with you.”

He shudders. The temperature dropped and suddenly he feels really cold. 

They can’t afford to pay more gas, so the heating is a no-no. 

Niall draws a quilt from behind the couch.

“Well,” he begins, tucking them both in. “I don’t think he actually thinks them. People say nasty shit when they’re angry.”

Harry knows. He’s not innocent either, what he said is unforgivable. 

“But I wonder, if I could ever trust him again.” Harry muses. “I wonder, if he was right.”

Maybe he really does need to grow the fuck up. 

Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s not sure if he can actually look Louis in the eye at the concert. If he should go after all. 

It’s just that sometimes, when Harry has a good feeling about people, he opens up to them, actually lets them in. And well, he had a good feeling about Louis. He thought he could trust him, but now he’s not so sure anymore. Maybe that was just Harry’s wishful thinking, getting too excited and wondering if perhaps Louis was right for him.

He was starting to get some feelings in there, he’s not gonna lie.

And well, if he got it wrong, then that’s too bad. It wouldn’t be the first time the people he cares about betray him. 

Niall keeps stroking his hair and he starts to doze off. But a ringing sound startles him awake.

It’s his phone, an unsaved number.

He picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Mr. Harry Styles?” A female voice greets him.

“Yes, this is him. Who’s this?”

“I’m calling from Mr. Malik’s office, just to verify the address to deliver your concert tickets to.”

Oh, right. The concert is on Saturday.

“Uhm, yeah. How many are there?”

“Five tickets, platinum balcony.” 

He raises his eyebrows. That’s generous.

“Sure, yeah.” He repeats his apartment address, the lady thanking him and wishing him a good night. 

“Well, I guess we really are going to the concert,” He tells Niall.

Niall whoops excitedly, but settles down a moment later. “Uh, sorry.”

“That’s okay. Just because I’m heartbroken doesn’t mean you don’t get to be excited.”

And it dawns on him.

Why he feels so shitty.

Why he fucking cried his eyes out after Louis left him the other day.

He got his heart broken. Because he’s in love with Louis.

Was.

Was in love. He can’t allow himself to be in love anymore.

He shakes the thought off and offers to make some dinner.

The next day seems to be better. He wakes up early, takes a hot shower, has breakfast with Niall before they both have to leave for work, and even tidies the living room.

He arrives at the gallery, apologizing profusely to his boss for missing work the day before, and spends nearly four hours restoring a painting they just got from a private collection. 

Mostly, he keeps his mind occupied. 

He offers to go get lunch for everybody with his coworker, Kelsey, a girl his age with black hair and a nose piercing. 

After work, he texts Gemma and asks her if he can drop by. He gets there in no time, and gets swarmed by two little bodies on the entrance.

“Kids, let uncle Harry breathe!” Gemma chastises them from the living room.

They hug him and smack a wet kiss on both his cheeks. These kids always manage to cheer him up. 

“Uncle Haz!” Tommy squeals. “Where is Louis? Did he come with you?”

“Yeah, where’s Louis?” Katie asks.

Harry’s face falters. He puts Tommy down and walks in, closing the door behind him. “Uh, no, sorry cubs, Louis couldn’t come.”

Gemma greets him with a kiss as well. “Hey, how are you?”

“Good, good, how’re you and John?” He asks, stealing a cookie from the container Gemma is putting together.

“He’s good, just, a little disappointed that you didn’t come to the barbecue.” Gemma says, smiling at him.

“Shoot! I totally forgot!” That was yesterday? He was too busy nursing a hangover. “Oh, I feel so bad. I just, I got caught up with work, and…” 

“Work? Is that what they call it these days?” Gemma quirks a knowing eyebrow at him. 

Harry stops munching on his sugar cookie.

“Niall talked to me,” Gemma admits. “He told me everything.”

“Everything?!” He’s going to kill Niall.

“Well, not all the details, but it was pretty clear.” Gemma puts a lid on the container, and takes out some cups. “It’s not like you to go out all night so recklessly. Specially on a weekday.”

She serves milk for the kids and asks if he wants anything. “Some coffee would be nice.”

While they wait on the counter for the coffeepot to start dripping, she shoots him a worried look.

“Ugh, you’re just like mom, I hate you!” That look always gets everything out of him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Gemma laughs. 

Harry takes a deep breath. “It’s about Louis.”

“I figured.”

Wait, what? “You knew?”

“I’m not blind, Harry. You look at him like the sun shines out of his ass.”

Harry drags a hand down his cheek. Was he that obvious?

“Okay, anyway, what happened?”

He tells her more or less what he told Niall, with less curse words and less graphic scenes, but in the end he pours out  _ everything _ .

From the moment they met, to the party at Zayn’s house, leaving only the dirty parts out. When he finishes he feels a little better, like a deflated balloon that was about to burst.

“Oh, honey,” Gemma hugs him. “I am so sorry. Are you coming to the show tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbles, looking down at the floor.

“Well, whatever it is you decide is okay, but I really think it’ll do you some good if you go.”

Gemma starts sipping her coffee. “Besides, if you want me to tell you the truth, I think Louis feels just as bad about what he said as you. I think he really cares about you.”

Harry smiles sadly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. So, you and John are coming?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave the kids with his mom for the night.”

“Okay.” If his sister and Niall go with him, maybe he can do this after all. “Thank you for listening, Gems. It feels good to talk about it.”

“You know you can always count on me, you dummy,” Gemma says, laughing.

He knows that. That’s why she’s his big sister. 

“Besides, if I’m honest with you, you look like shit. This can be your closure, and then you’ll move on.”

Ouch.

“Thanks, sis.” 

 

***

 

Louis is normally good at reading people, but with Zayn, he made a mistake.

After all that’s happened in the past two days, Louis can admit he was wrong, and actually, he’s glad he was.

“We need to do that take one more time, okay?”

Zayn crosses his eyes at him, obviously done with all of this.

Louis laughs, but puts on his headphones again, going over the last chorus again with Zayn.

When they’re done, they lounge around in the bean bags.

“The problem is, I was never good at writing. I can do music, but words just don’t come easy to me.” He explains, sighing.

Zayn nods. 

“And well, it’s really fucking hard to write a song when all can I think of if how I  _ can’t _ write one.”

“Well, maybe you should write about that.” Zayn suggests, playing a game on his phone.

Louis frowns. “What?”

“Yeah, use that as an advantage,” Zayn says, shrugging. “You can get inspired by the process of writing the song on itself. Just talk about what you’re feeling. That’s the beauty of writing lyrics man, you get to say whatever the fuck you want and nobody can say anything, because it’s a song, and it means a million different things to a million different people.”

“Huh.” Louis scratches his chin, stubble of the past few days covering it. He’s already getting a bit too scruffy. “So, you’re saying - that I should write about how I want to write it?”

“Yup.”

Wow. He really misjudged Zayn.

He’s actually so much smarter than people think.

Some sort of fondness for the younger singer spreads inside him.

On Friday, Louis gets to rehearsals on time.

But Zayn’s vocal coach is starting to get on Louis’ nerves.

“Look, Lewis, you’re giving me this,” He does a nasal sound with his mouth, “And I want  _ this _ , okay?”

“I’m gonna fucking give you this…” Louis mutters to the ground, grabbing his crotch, and Zayn snorts next to him, elbowing him.

Turns out, Zayn is a pretty alright guy.

Him and Louis get along incredibly well, although some of that might have to do with the fact that they got high together and then Louis passed out on his bed the entire night. 

“After this you guys need to go down to choreography, and practice with Ernie, okay?” Zayn’s manager tells them, typing something on his tablet. “Since we changed the entire song, the dance is going to be a little different.” 

After five hours of practice, Louis ends up knackered. 

“Shit,” He gasps, plopping down on a chair. “How do you do this everyday?” 

Zayn laughs. “Maybe you’re just too old.”

“Hey! Respect your elders, boy!” He says, slapping Zayn on the thigh. 

“So, the concert is tomorrow. You think you’re ready?” 

Louis thinks so. He only hopes Harry will show up. 

Zayn and him play Fifa on the flat screen hooked up backstage, and have dinner brought to them. 

“Sweet! I gotta tell you, I hadn’t been pampered like this in years, bro.” Louis snickers, taking a slice of pizza from the box. 

They eat up all the pizza, and Louis checks the time on his phone. He probably has to go now.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then, and don’t be late or Derek will chop off your balls.” Zayn laughs, and hugs him goodbye. 

It’s really interesting, how things can change. 

Now, he prays that he can change things tomorrow.

Next day, he wakes up feeling well rested and even optimistic. He receives a phone call from Liam, to remind him where’s he supposed to be and at what time.

“I’ll send a car for you.” He tells Louis. “I’ll meet you at the venue, okay?”

The hours building up to the show have him feeling a bit on edge, but nothing he hasn’t handled in the past.

His car comes to pick him up at four, and they get to Madison Square Garden in little time. 

Their trainer insists that they go through the choreography one more time, and Louis has it nailed to a T. 

They get to makeup and styling at half past six. The show is supposed to start at eight. 

“What are you gonna do with that?” Louis asks, afraid of the woman in front him bearing a sharp pencil.

“It’s just eyeliner, bro, makes your eyes pop out.” Zayn tells him from his chair, where he’s getting his hair done.

“Well, if you must.” He says, and lets himself be poked at.

The end result is actually pretty fucking good, if he’s honest.

He looks  _ hot _ , with the eyeliner and the dusted cheeks and the hair ruffled into a stylish blown up look. His outfit is simple yet classy, black blazer, skinny jeans, plain white shirt and shiny new shoes.

Zayn, on the other hand, has over four costume changes.

“How do you even remember to put all this in order?” Louis asks, taking a look at his closet.

“I don’t. They put it on for me.” Zayn says, grinning. 

“Oh.” Back in the day he just had one costume change, at most. 

Liam pops his head in after a while, makes sure everything is set for Louis.

Granted, he’s not playing an entire setlist, but his manager wants to feel like he’s doing a good managing job.

“Are you nervous?” Liam asks him.

Louis cracks his knuckles. “I wasn’t, really, until you asked.”

The three of them play cards until it’s time for Zayn to go, at quarter to nine, to be exact.

Louis wishes him good luck, and stays in the dressing room watching TV with Liam just to kill time and not think about what he’s going to do. He’s not needed until the show is almost over, anyway.

 

***

 

“Well, I sure am glad I didn’t bring the kids,” Gemma yells over the music when Zayn finishes his first song. 

Harry laughs. The show definitely deserved the ‘Over 15 only’ warning. Although, of course, nobody paid attention to it. 

Niall, Gemma, John and him are sitting on a VIP balcony overlooking the entire venue. It’s sold out, every seat filled with a screaming fan.

“Good evening, Square Garden!” Zayn yells into his headset, waving at the flashing lights.

Gemma and Niall cheer. 

The set of lights for his show is probably intended to leave people blind. Purple and green blend into a huge beam that shoots all the way across the venue, and the video on the screen behind Zayn shows screaming and crying fans down there.

There’s a huge Buddha statue prop placed neatly on the center of the stage, as well as a catwalk parting the crowd in two. 

Harry sits down, feeling unusually at ease. He hopes it stays this way the entire concert.

Zayn is a really good performer, Harry will give him that. The songs are catchy and fresh and have a sultry feeling to them, which pairs perfectly well with Zayn’s explicit choreographies. 

“Man, who do I have to pay to have a string of girls following me around like that?” Niall laughs, pointing at the backup dancers. “Some of them are really fucking hot.”

“How can you even tell? We’re like a hundred feet away from them!” 

Harry thinks he catches a glimpse of Liam watching from the side of the stage. He swallows.

After ten or so songs, they all start sounding the same to Harry.

But his sister and Niall seem to be enjoying the show, as well as John, so he shrugs it off and claps along when Zayn asks the crowd to.

“New York, I love you!” Zayn yells after wrapping up a song. “Thank you all, for joining me tonight on this spiritual discovery.”

Gemma quirks an eyebrow at Harry. He just laughs.

“Now it’s time for something else, something very different.”

The crowd cheers.

“I’d like to share a new song with you!”

The crowd goes insane with the screaming.

Niall elbows Harry and Gemma turns to him, grinning. “It’s your song!”

Zayn continues speaking. “It’s a song  _ no one  _ has heard before, written by Mr. Louis Tomlinson!”

Everyone claps, except for them.

“Give it up for Louis!”

Gemma turns to him, shocked. “What? Written by him  _ and _ my brother!”

Niall puts his hands around his mouth. “You fucking idiot, Harry wrote it!”

Harry blinks repeatedly, a lump in his throat. He can’t believe this.

He watches Louis appear on stage, waving to everybody like a fucking pageant queen, a small smile on his lips.

Niall starts booing him loudly, and Gemma just places a hand on his shoulder. “Haz.”

He sits down, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

He shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a nobody, after all.

“I think I need to take some air.” He stands up and walks off the balcony, heading for the staircase.

He runs down to the corridor between sections,fists clenched.

And he hears Louis’ voice.

“Thank you all. This song is dedicated to someone very special, Harry, I hope you hear this.”

A piano starts playing. 

 

_ I want to write you a song _

_ One as beautiful as you are sweet _

_ With just a hint of pain _

_ For the feeling that I get when you are gone _

_ I want to write you a song _

 

Harry stops dead on his tracks.

He turns around to watch the screen showing Louis playing the piano, completely shocked.

 

_ Everything I need I get from you _

_ Givin' back is all I wanna do _

 

Harry can’t even process what he’s feeling right now. He stares in awe, a warm fuzz spreading inside him.

He could stay right here and listen to Louis’ song forever.

 

_ I want to write you a song _

_ One to make your heart remember me _

_ So any time I'm gone _

_ You can listen to my voice and sing along _

_ I want to write you a song… _

 

Louis finishes the song and scratches his nose. “Thank you.” He mumbles into the mic.

The crowd cheers and applauds for him, and Harry knows he has to run.

When he gets near the stage, a security guard probably twice his size stops him with a hand to his chest. “No one can go in there.”

“No, you don’t understand, I know Zayn!” He yells over the sound of the music. “I wrote a song for him!”

“I don’t care who you know, no one gets in!”

Then, a guy he recognizes as one of Zayn’s bodyguards walks over. “Hey, he’s alright!”

Harry sighs in relief. “See? I’m not crazy!”

The guard doesn’t look pleased, but lets him in anyway.

He runs up the stairs to the side of the stage, Zayn finishing up one of his songs.

And there, he sees Louis.

“Louis!” He almost runs him over with his speed, and crushes him in a big hug.

Louis huffs, but hugs him back too. They separate, and Louis smiles at him a bit shily. 

“So, you heard the song?”

Harry nods, sniffs a bit. What if he cried? Sue him. “Louis, that was.... I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“No, I mean it. That song is perfect. It’s the best thing I have ever heard, you wrote it yourself?”

Louis shrugs, looking down at the floor. “I have my hidden aces, you know?”

Harry hugs him again, says into his ear, “I fucking love it.”

Louis pulls back just enough to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry kisses him with an urgency he’s never felt before, desperate to convey all he’s feeling into the kiss.

Louis kisses him back, just as good as he remembers.

They hear Zayn speaking into the mic just a few feet away.

“And now, to introduce my new single, get ready! It’s called If I Could Fly, with music and lyrics by Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry listens to the piano slowly fade in. He stops the kiss, looks at Zayn and then at Louis. “What happened to steamy and sticky?”

“Well, I talked to Zayn, and he’s actually really nice, we’re friends now,” Louis smiles, his eyes crinkling. “He understood completely, and changed the song back to what it was.”

Harry has to kiss him one more time.

“Okay, okay, now go, go!” He pinches Louis’ butt softly, nudges him to get out there and sing his fucking heart out.

Zayn and him sound amazing together, and they go through the song,  _ their _ song, flawlessly.

The entire crowd is dead silent as they get out their phones and move along to the soft melody, and Harry sees waves upon waves of little lights, like an endless sea of people that are listening to the song he wrote.

The song him and Louis created.

By the time the song wraps up, the crowd already knows the chorus, singing along in unison.

“Thank you for a great night, Madison Square Garden!” Zayn says excitedly, bowing with Louis. Louis looks over his shoulder, and grins brightly at Harry.

Just as fast, Louis is back in his arms, legs wrapped around Harry’s hips, and arms around his neck. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He asks, giddy.

“I love you.” Harry blurts out.

Louis’ blue eyes go wide for a moment, but then he’s all smiles again. “I love you too.”

They fit into a tight embrace perfectly, like two puzzle pieces coming together. Louis kisses him again, sweet and magnetic and so fucking  _ Louis  _ that Harry’s heart nearly stops.

And right now, at least for this moment, Harry actually feels like he can fly.  
  


* * *

 

 

> Billboard.com
> 
> December 17, 2015
> 
>  
> 
> **Styles & Tomlinson: New songwriting dynamic duo of the stars**
> 
>  
> 
> After a summer working on number one single “If I Could Fly” for R&B singer Zayn Malik, the duo composed of ex One Direction's Louis Tomlinson and previously unknown Harry Styles are finishing a year full of ensured hits, with offers already on the table from acts like Selena Gomez, Sam Smith, John Legend, and more. 
> 
> The couple, who currently reside in Manhattan with two dogs and a cat, made their relationship public right after the premiere of the ballad. 
> 
> Asked about what it feels to be back on the music scene after years of underdog status, Tomlinson commented: “I think I owe it in big part to Harry, we just seem to connect so well and that translates into the songs. I'm so glad people enjoy them too.”
> 
> It seems like the heartfelt pop songs crafted by Tomlinson and Styles are what everyone wants in on right now, and recently Tomlinson has even been asked to sing a collaboration with Ellie Goulding.
> 
> So, could this be the birth of a genius partnership the likes of Lennon/McCartney or Jagger/Richards? We can only hope the spell lasts enough for them, as the duo sets to release more songs in the new year. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so, yeah. hope you liked it, and if you did, leave a comment!  
> this story was completed a couple of days ago, and at the moment of edition, david bowie was still alive. so, i would like to dedicate this fic to him, one of my favorite singers and a person i've looked up to my entire life. you will be missed, ziggy. xx


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